


This Side of Paradise

by Doodsxd



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Divorce, F/M, Getting Back Together, Good Draco Malfoy, Head Auror Harry Potter, Helpful Draco Malfoy, Jealous Ron Weasley, Light Angst, Lust, Mature Harry Potter, Minister for Magic Hermione Granger, Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter), Misunderstandings, POV Hermione Granger, Post-Hogwarts, The Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter) is Terrible, as friends, estranged friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-03-05 11:28:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 25,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18827776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doodsxd/pseuds/Doodsxd
Summary: She didn’t need to think twice. To hell with Williamson. “You’re hired. You can skip my office and go directly to HR to take your file from the archives. I’ll sign it tomorrow at the latest.”Her decisiveness unveiled reality in front of his eyes. Hermione was not ashamed to enjoy the delight that his shock brought her. “No one told me you’re the Minis-”“Everyone probably assumed you knew, since we are both still married to Weasleys.” There was no reason to bring up her divorce, even though she presumed his was not finalized yet, since divorces were public record his hadn’t made the news yet.“Right.” HIs hand went through his hair, uncomfortable. She resisted the urge to smile at the very Potter-typical gesture. “So I’m hired. Just like that.” His voice had an incredulous tone to it.Her smile was bright. He had no bloody idea what he was in for.“Just like that.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [liquidsky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/liquidsky/gifts), [apsbeck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/apsbeck/gifts), [renan2117](https://archiveofourown.org/users/renan2117/gifts).



> Hullo :)
> 
> Here we go again. I think it's the first F/M I write here Oo
> 
> I hope you enjoy.

This side of paradise

_Doodsxd_

 

# Chapter one

THE cold, humid Irish wind blew on her face and hair mercilessly. Her whole view was muddy green and grey -  from the sky to the stormy ocean to the dying leaves beneath her feet. There was little to do on a place such as this besides contemplation. Luckily, it was exactly what she needed.

“Tea is served, Miss.” Mrs. Miller informed her while wiping her reddened hands on her untinged apron. The bed and breakfast owner and her husband were quiet people, but kind, nonetheless. She nodded her head in acknowledgement; watched the older woman make her way back into the house.

Hermione didn't want to go on. It felt like the weather had taken pity on her and decided to compliment her inner landscape. It's felt comfortable. More than her own home had felt in the last six years.

“You look like someone in need of a break.” Mr. Miller’s sickly voice brought her back from her inner musings.

Hermione’s lips curled gently upwards. “Be honest. I look like someone in hiding.” She called on him.

The man’s laughter turned into coughing briefly. “Oh, yes. That too.” He shifted uncomfortably on his seat. She wished she could stop noticing things, but by then it was a lifelong habit from constantly being in danger. Perks of her choices, she pondered. “We don’t mean to pry.”

Hermione shook her head. “It’s fine. Curiosity is human nature.” not that she knew anything about that. Hermione abided by the rules, ditching them only for another, superior rule: loyalty.

Being curious implied being alive. She’d seen too much for that. For a woman in her thirties, she felt older than Flamel.

 

_“It seems like you’re not even here.” Ronald put his hair back with his hands in a frustrated gesture. He had being doing that a lot. She vaguely wondered if being frustrated with her was responsible for the growing bald spots on his forehead. “See? You’re not even listening. It’s like you shut yourself inside your head and I’ve been living alone for the past two years.”_

_“I’ve been busy.” They said if you say a word multiple times in a row it loses its meaning. Busy. Busy. Busy. Her life was busy, she had responsibilities, an ever growing list of things she had to get done so the British Wizarding World runs smoothly. That was her doing. Why couldn’t he understand that?_

_“no, Hermione, that’s the thing.” He almost laughs. “You don’t avoid me because you’re busy. You’re busy because you avoid me.”_

 

“Lady, you don’t need to tell him anything.” Mrs. Miller tells her, tray wobbly in her hands, settling down the slightly burned tea.

Hermione sat down and thanked the woman for the beverage.

“It’s fine.” She put her hair behind her ear. Another thing magic tamed for her. “It’s no big deal. Just working through some… marital problems, that’s all. needed a break.” She answered, unable to lie out of politeness.

She almost couldn’t recognize the face that looked back at her in the mirror, these days.

“Oh.” The woman, who probably never had those kinds of problem in her whole life, muttered. “We understand.”

They didn’t. “It’s fine.” She dismissed. It wasn’t. She couldn’t breathe again.

“You are a wonderful woman.” Green eyes sparkled at her. It was a shade unfamiliar to her lately. “I’m sure he’s going to see the wrong in his ways soon and you two are going to be together again, stronger than ever.”

She offered the woman a yellow smile and a sip of her tea.

She was a desert land. She had nothing else to give.

 


	2. Chapter Two

#  Chapter two

 

WHY was London always so rainy, she may know, but will never truly understand. Even the insides of her bones felt cold and humid. 

Luckily for her - well, not so much luck as careful planning from her part - th e walk from her tiny rental to the Ministry was very short. WIth how her mind had been muddy, lately, she’d probably split herself in five if she tried to aparate. 

Despite the early hour, her feet were not the only ones hitting the pavement. 

Walking forward, no change of pace for another couple of blocks, she took a sharp turn left and pulled the person following her by the lapels. Hermione pressed the figure on the wall through her want, firmly pressed against their throat. “Why are you following me?” 

The person - the man - looked too disoriented to be following anyone, really. Too bad looks were deceiving. 

“What the-?” He re-adjusted his glasses on his face, dislodged by her manhandling. Potter models. Those went out of fashion a couple of years ago, but some people insisted on being… nostalgic. Ridiculous. “You scared me!”

“Answer me.” She stopped for a moment, cogs turning on her sleepless, wired brain. “Harry?” 

The space between his brows wrinkled as he frowned. “Hermione?” 

 

_ “So,” Harry started, a tiny smile on his lips. “How are you feeling?” _

_ “Nervous. Of course.” She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t stop smiling.  _

_ “Hermione,” He sounded so serious all of the sudden. She didn’t turn, but there was no need for sight. All of her remaining senses were acutely aware of his proximity; his smell, fresh grass and smoke, natural war always clinging to his skin like a cloak; his warmth embracing her back, familiar and comfortable and  _ safe _ as nothing else after the acceptance letter from Hogwarts made its way to her front porch. It was always trolls and basilisks and Dark Lords… even Ron failed her from time to time. But not Harry. Harry was always there for her, a quiet, solid presence by her side, always ready and willing to offer support. Even now, dressed in white from head to toe, twenty minutes before walking down the aisle to start a life with her lifelong friend, all that she wanted to do was to melt against that feeling.  _

_ “What?” She asked, fluffing her veil, checking to see if her lip gloss hadn’t smudged. She was aware that people were going to talk - the one to help her dress and get ready hadn’t been her mom or her lady friends, but instead a boy who had stamped the front page of the Prophet with her as if they were some sordid fling, as she allegedly cheated on Viktor Krum with him.  _

_ Oh, well. They would have to deal. Just like they would have to deal with the fact that, just as Harry was her bridesmaid, Ginny was her brother’s best man.  _

_ “I have to ask you something.” Her friend got her by the hands, warm and firm, and guided her to sit on the bed. That was when she finally saw the seriousness of his expression, the regret in his eyes.  _

_ Her stomach dropped. “Is there something wrong?” Had Ron bolted? Cheated on her? She knew it, that wretched- _

_ “Hermione,” Harry squeezed her hands, grounding her. How did he always know? “There’s nothing wrong. I just have to ask you something.”  _

_ She sighed in relief. “Merlin’s beard, Harry. You scared me.” The soon-to-be bride slapped his arm playfully. “What’s it?”  _

_ “I have to ask you… are you sure?” He asked, making her confused.  _

_ “Sure about what?”  _

_ “About marriage.” He replied. “About Ron.” _

_ Hermione could not believe her ears. She must have been hallucinating. “Excuse me?”  _

_ “Hey, don’t be like this.” Harry tried to pacify her. “I just feel like I should ask. Make sure you actually want to do it. That you’re not only marrying him because it’s what it’s expected of you.”  _

_ Hermione felt a little tail shifting inside her, restless. She frowned. “Why are you asking me this  _ now _?” She asked him, aggressive. What was Harry thinking? _

_ “Hermione-” He tried to start, but was cut off.  _

_ “No, Harry. Just no. Stop. If anything, you should have voiced this sooner. Not now, not on my wedding day!” _

_ “I know, I know,” He seemed anguished. “But I’m doing it now, and you haven’t given me an answer yet.”  _

_ She fumed. “Get out.”  _

_ “What?” Her friend looked confused.  _

_ “Out. Now! Out of the room!” She grabbed his suit, his cufflinks, throwing them at him, who flinched.  _

_ “Hermione, please…”  _

_ “OUT!” Was her final scream. She felt warm and out of control from the anger, not the happy, excited bride she was supposed to be.  _

_ Harry just stared at her. Got his things, sighed, stood up, heading out from the room.  _

_ As soon as the door clicked shut, her makeup was ruined by the tears.  _

_ Lucky for her, magic could fix that. It could fix everything.  _

 

“I thought you were in Bulgary.” She spoke first, adrenalin keeping her heart fast, her breath laboured. 

“Clearly I’m not.” He brushed some of the dirt from the wall from his overcoat. He looked halfway angry already, which brought up anger on her as well. 

“There is no need to be rude.” She lashed back. “ You were never one to make pointless observations.” HIs eyes brightened with a fire that she knew too well, but had never been directed at her until that moment. 

Her heart took a jump without her consent. She swallowed it down. “You were never one for needless insults, but here we are.” SHe paused. Pulled herself together. 

Harry sighed, eyes shut. He looked older, felt tired. “I’m sorry.” He didn’t sound sorry. “I’m just going to the MInistry, to talk to the Minister.” 

She wanted to smirk. “What for?” 

He frowned at her question. She could always hear his inner voice saying ‘none of your business’, but he contained himself with a silent, discreet deep breath. She felt her chest swell with something akin to pride. He learned social and political maneuvering with her after the war. He had grown a lot for it to become second nature to him as it was right now. 

“I’m going to ask for my job back.” Harry answered, eyes down, swallowing his pride. The cogs turned fast into her head. So he was moving back, then. 

Hermione pondered. The current head of Law Enforcement, Merlin forgive her, was a tool. It was one of the reasons she was overworked: she simply could not trust a number of Ministry employees to properly execute the jobs they were paid to do. 

“And what does Ginny think about that?” She asked. She would not buy another gratuitous fight with Ron. She’d rather work herself to death. Actually, she thought to herself, that was exactly the path she had been heading towards ever since she left her house. With ROse and Hugo in Hogwarts during the holidays, there was nothing else that meant “home” to her in the house that she previously shared with Ron. 

“Since we’re not together anymore. I’d say she has no say in my career choices.” Was the final dot. 

She didn’t need to think twice. To hell with Williamson. “You’re hired. You can skip my office and go directly to HR to take your file from the archives. I’ll sign it tomorrow at the latest.”

Her decisiveness unveiled reality in front of his eyes. Hermione was not ashamed to enjoy the delight that his shock brought her. “No one told me you’re the Minis-”

“Everyone probably assumed you knew, since we are both still married to Weasleys.” There was no reason to bring up her divorce, even though she presumed his was not finalized yet, since divorces were public record his hadn’t made the news yet. 

“Right.” HIs hand went through his hair, uncomfortable. She resisted the urge to smile at the very Potter-typical gesture. “So I’m hired. Just like that.” His voice had an incredulous tone to it. 

Her smile was bright. He had no bloody idea what he was in for. 

“Just like that.”   
  


* * *

 

“Fucking hell, Hermione.” Harry burst into her office not three full days later.

The Minister of Magic swallowed her smirk. “It’s Mrs. Minister or Mrs. Granger, Mr. Potter.” She corrected him with a sharpness she had honed to look and sound like Minerva McGonagall as much as it was humanly possible.

He paused “Fucking hell,  _ Hermione _ .” He punctuated her first name with defiance. Ah, Harry. Never dealt very well with authority or hierarchy. 

She turned to him with the most unimpressed expression that she could muster. “I’ll have you know i can have you arrested for insubordination, Chief Potter.”

He threw himself unceremoniously on one of her visitor chairs. “Please do. It’s better than trying to put that department back in shape.”

Fingers through brown locks and he was eleven once more. “Who in Merlin’s name was Chief before?”

“Williamson.” She finally allowed herself a small smile. 

“Williamson?” Harry was almost screaming. “Williamson? You mean the tiny lad that has been following me all day?” He asked, fuming. 

“I left him with instructions to help you re-acclimatize to the systematics.” Is her neutral answer.

“You left him with instructions to be a huge pain in my arse, that’s what you did.” He huffed. “I have no idea how he managed to run the…-” His eyes narrowed and forehead wrinkled. Oh, yes. He would do just fine. “He didn’t, didn’t he?” He asked, coming to the right conclusion. “ _ You _ did.”

“It’s your job now, Potter.” Being vague was always the most polite solution with people as explosive as Harry. Merlin forbid that her assistant hers yelling coming from her office. “Good luck.”

He offered her an angry - and rightly so - expressions. “You’ll pay for this, Madam Minister. Mark my words.” And turned to leave her office. 

“Remember to make an appointment for when that happens.” She told him as he left, and watched him fume. She could see it in her mind, his angry expression, the deep breath that he had to take in order to control it, just from the set of his shoulders. 

Oh, she would dearly pay for that, for sure. She just couldn’t see how even Harry Potter could manage to make her life worse. 

 


	3. Chapter Three

#  Chapter Three

She came back from lunch a few days later, exhausted. “Lydia, could you please call the Legal Department? I need to check in with their last project, see if they wrote down the chances i asked them to make- Ron.” She stopped short from checking on the papers over her table as she saw her ex-husband, she should say now, and how weird could the world be - standing by the bookcase that covered the far-wall of her office. 

“What are you doing here?” Her tone was very mild now. They couldn’t afford to hit their already fragile relationship too hard, or else it would shatter completely. They had children to think about. 

“You hired Harry back.” He said, no hi, no nothing. She knew he would be upset, byt while Ron had always been good with field strategy, she needed someone who could also deal with the Bureaucracy, the politics and the public relations of the post. Harry, once he left Hogwarts for good, had been very careful with his public image, not to mention much more tactful when dealing with public and donors alike. He was obviously the best professional fit for the job, but of course Ron wouldn’t be able to see things as they were. He never could; that’s what made him such a liability from the very start. “Are you fucking him?”

They were back at the Dean’s Forest, an Horcrux hanging on the redhead’s neck. 

They were also thirty-six years old, businessman and Minister; married for too many years for that kind of question to pop once again. 

She hesitated to answer, trying very hard to keep herself from losing all composure and screaming her lungs out at him. Her pause, however, was all the confirmation he needed, angry as he was. Both of them knew their marriage had been over for a long time, but her filing the divorce had made him fixate on the idea that she moved on before he did. That wasn’t exactly true, but she was definitely dealing with their separation much better than him, especially since she had so much to do that there was really no time for her to wallow in her own failure, while, for him, running a shop on the Diagonal Alley meant that working time fluctuated. 

Just because she could understand it, though, didn’t mean she had to take that kind of behavior with head bowed. She had long ago made her peace with the fact that she would always be a horrible person in somebody’s mind, especially in her position. She was only trying to do what she thought was right. But if they would rather see the world in terms of black and white, if not diving into the intricate nuances of life comforted them, then, so be it. 

“I knew it!” He exclaimed with the bitter expression she hated so much. “As soon as I knew that he was back and that you rehired him, I knew that was your plan all long.”

“I am not answering that line of questioning. Ron.” She punctuated curtly. “Either quit it or leave.”

Ron huffed, bitter poison almost visibly dripping from his lips. “You are unbelievable, Hermione.” She heard it, but pretended she didn’t, Hugo’s and Rose’s faces behind her eyes the whole time. 

Finally, he took his turn and left. 

The door had barely clicked shut before the tears started pouring from her eyes. 


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

 

“Mrs. Granger.” Lydia called from her now open office door. “We have a problem.”

The woman had never spoken that way before. Hermione immediately stood up, poking her head outside the door. “What is it?” She asked, but there was no need. The problem was right in front of her, piling up in folders and archives that suddenly covered her assistant’s room from floor to ceiling, and most of the free floor tiles. 

Realization dawned pretty quickly. She narrowed her eyes and flared her nostrils. “I’ll be right back, Lydia. Do not move.” She told her and stomped - gracefully, mind you - out of her office. 

“Where is Potter?” Her sharp tone made the rookies flinch and cower, immediately opening passage for her on the smelly, warm training room. 

“He is in the showers, Madam Minister.” One of the younger boys, a redhead - Merlin, he looked so much like Hugo - stammered out, looking terrified. Good. Unfortunately, it would probably take a lot more to affect Harry Potter. 

“M’am-” He tried to stop her, to protest; all in vain. 

She made a beeline into the steamy locker rooms, making some of the guys hide themselves with towels, flee outside half-dressed; she paid it no mind. 

“Out.” She told the last of them, who nodded in respect and left, still shirtless. 

Only one shower - the very last one - still made noise. Harry Always preferred the very last stall, further from the noisy conversations, more private. She was glad that he had kept his old ways in this matter, at least. She didn’t need to restrain her voice as much, this way. 

There was no warning. Hermione simply banged the door open, predictably not reacting to his nudity. “Potter.”

Damn. He looked nothing like the hunched, underfed boy that she met twenty-five years ago. She felt her mouth dry with lust and her chest sink with shame, thinking about the shaping underwear she had to wear everyday underneath her clothes so no one would see what time, an office-desk job and two pregnancies had done to her body. She felt irrationally mad at him for daring to look so good after all that time. 

Harry just turned to her, looking calm, composed and completely unashamed. Which, of course, just served to still even more anger within her. Obviously he thought he had nothing to be ashamed about. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, sending all those files to my office?” She demanded, trying to re-catch the leash of her currently amok self-control. 

“You were running the department. Williamson doesn’t even know how to fill those files, and Ministry Regulation states that it’s the person effectively responsible for that department’s responsibility to bring it into shape before the next person takes over.” He recited, never even stopping to gather himself to talk to her. Like she didn’t even bother him; like she didn’t even matter in the whole scheme of things. And maybe she didn’t. Not anymore, at least. 

Have the aurors responsible for the missions do it. I can’t possibly have all that paperwork in my hands only, or in my office!” She contested, trying not to stare at the suds sliding down his skin, from his chest to the dark hairs of his-

“If that’s what you want, then you give the order, answer the questions, guide them. It’s not my job, not over those case files.” He shrugged, still untroubled. 

It wasn’t about what he said. She knew he was right, she was the one who should do it, it was the fair course of action, and she always thought of herself as a just person. 

No, it was about how he had said it, daring to not care about her, about her load of work, her efforts to rebuild a more efficient Ministry of Magic, one that wouldn’t allow what happened to her, to Harry himself, happen ever again; he didn’t care that it cost her her marriage and her ability to read and digest her own feelings, he didn’t care- he simply didn’t care. 

A wave of unrestrained emotional magic burst from her, pushing Harry to the back of his stall violently. She had a very brief sense of satisfaction from it, from finally seeing him rattled. 

His reaction was just as powerful as hers, but it wasn’t involuntary at all. The burst of non-verbal magic threw her across the hallway into the stall opposite to him, which started squirting warm water over her hair, clothes and angry-hot skin. She didn’t even notice it at first, though: for one, the back of her head hurt considerably from the impact; and two, Harry immobilized her against the wall with his body, wand firmly digging into her throat, a mockery of their first encounter when she hired him. 

“Is that what we do to each other now?” His tone was low and dangerous. Ironically enough, the process of empowering Harry went through sharpening him into the shape of a killing machine. “Sudden attacks and veiled threats?”

“Harry-” SHe tried to get out of that situation to walk it out still on top; but damned Harry wouldn’t let her, would he?

“It’s Mr. Potter for you, m’am.” Was his reply. His was off of ger all at once, leaving her feeling cold and bare. The sensation disoriented her for a moment, but he was courteous enough to wait for her to wait for her to recompose herself. At least that’s what she thought. When she averted her eyes back, Harry was already dressed and wearing his cloak, which facilitated the elaboration of her thoughts. 

“ASk your men to see me one by one. I’ll go over the files with them.” SHe finally told him, pulling her shirt down. It was futile; an act with the sole intention of comforting herself. SHe knew Harry would catch on that, but it didn’t matter. She was beyond caring. 

Harry just nodded, his face unreadable. She felt it clog in her throat; the wish for a Harry she could read like the back of her hand, back. 

Instead of that, she got to see Harry - Mr. Piotter - turn his back on her and leave the locker room. 

Hermione turned her face to the dripping water, letting it wash away her urge to cry. She had a lot of work to do and no time to waste if she was to do it all before the weekend, before the first custody hearing of her divorce suit. 

She stepped out of the shower, fixed her wet clothes with a drying spell and checked herself in the mirror for claws. Seeing none, Hermione straightened her posture and walked out, making eye contact with no one. It was going to be the newest feature in Ministry’s office, but she had no time to worry over that either. 

She had work to do. 

 

* * *

 

The burst of non-verbal magic threw her across the hallway into the stall opposite to him, which started squirting warm water over her hair, clothes and angry-hot skin. She didn’t even notice it at first, though: for one, the back of her head hurt considerably from the impact; and two, Harry immobilized her against the wall with his body, wand firmly digging into her throat, a mockery of their first encounter when she hired him. 

“Is this what we do to each other now?” His tone was low and dangerous. “Sudden attacks and veiled threats?” HIs eyes glinted and holyfuckinghell, he was hard against her hip, fuck. That might be the adrenalin and while Harry was a virtual stranger, it never crossed her mind to actually be scared of him. 

Instead, the signals that her body were sending were of excitement. She hadn’t felt that alive in years, when her life had been composed of neverending office hours and coming back home to a failed, tedious marriage. Her blood was running and she could hear her heart beating; notice drops of water on his eyelashes, the redder hairs mixed with the brown ones on his long beard, probably courtesy of his mother’s genes. And he was a good detective; caught on her cues before catching her lips with his. 

Worlds and galaxies exploded from the head that rose to her chest. She felt like falling from a thousand brooms with no fear of hitting the ground, especially as his hands supported her legs up from her thighs, which him in between them; hoisting her up against the cold of the wall tiles, the warm of his chest. 

She had no control over how her hips ground against his invitingly; she had no control over her arms pulling him closer to her, to forbid him from ever letting go of her body. 

Not that he had any intention to, from the way his hands moved to cup her ass with what felt like  _ gusto.  _ SHe wasn’t sure he was lifting her with magic or not; the fingers pushing her panties to the side were pretty much the only thing in the front of her mind. 

The whole universe could fit the tip of his fingers searching and finding her clit just to draw tiny circles over it, with it, making Hermione open her lips and expel a harsh breath, Icarus falling from the open skies, Aphrodite rising from a drop of semen on the sea, a wave crashing from her extremities to where he took possession, with her permission, of her pleasure; pulsing, spiraling-

She woke up. Her alarm-clock - bunny-shaped, pink, a gift from her mother that she never threw away, a tiny piece of her Muggle life that she still carried, safe beside whatever bed she laid on, watching over her - blared loudly. 

She was sweaty and could feel the wetness between her thighs oozing out of her, trespassing the boundary of her panties. As she dried herself a bit on the sheets for better grip and spread her legs to reach between them, Hermione was faintly reminded of another Hermione, one that would be scandalized; not that she was touching herself, but that she was pleasuring herself over a wet dream about Harry, her former best friend, Ginny’s soon to be ex-husband, her own husband’s former best friend. And yet, what they didn’t know, couldn’t hurt them. 

She wasn’t going to pass up an opportunity to feel alive again. 

Hermione decided, then, that she thought entirely too much already. Her mind deserved a rest. 

She shut her eyes, deciding not to think anything at all. 


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

 

HERMIONE couldn’t work. 

That had never happened before. 

She had always been a machine: efficient, unstoppable. She was proud of that, of being an example for others, as flawless as a human being could be. Her ability to compartmentalize and concentrate on the task in front of her, the problem she has to solve; it was her utmost point of excellence, the singular thing that defined her life, her worthiness, herself; and it was, at least temporarily, gone. 

And it was all due to Harry Potter. 

She felt like a horny, stupid teenager. 

She had been mulling over the same sentence for about fifteen minutes. Hermione was on her desk, one of the case files that she had to go through over her table. In front of her, one of the younger Aurors sat on an armchair, receiving instructions from Harry, who was leaning to see over the rookie’s shoulder. His ass right on her sight. 

It was driving her insane. 

It wasn’t exactly about Harry - who was still not talking to her, by the way - but about the dream with him. How that made her feel, especially. 

And, right then, she was fidgeting to alleviate some of the pressure between her legs. 

This wasn’t working. She couldn’t work like that. 

“This is too noisy.” She complained towards him. It wasn’t the first time, and it was visible. Being near a man who had been her best friend for so long almost made her revert back to less mature modes of communication, such as whining. She wasn’t proud of it, but she could se the same when she visited Luna or Neville; and she was sure that the very same thing was happening to Harry at some level. “I can’t work here.” 

“You once wrote a whole thirty-inch essay on the Gryffindor’s Common Room during a celebration of a win against Slytherin.” Harry answered to her complaint, but he felt the honesty on her words, so he was frowning confusedly at her. “What’s going on?” He asked, then, turning towards her. 

_ I wanna bite your ass _ didn’t seem like an adequate answer, true as it might be. She bit her tongue; sighed to conceal it. He, of course, noticed it. The more time they spent underneath the same atmosphere, the easier reading each other got, and very quick. Like riding a bicycle. 

“Nothing.” She assured him. “Just a headache. It’ll go away.” The justification was supposed to make him go away. Obviously, it worked the opposite. 

He left his working rookie to lean over her desk, his smell wafting on her nostrils, making it even harder to think. She was on freaking bursting point. “What’s bothering you, Hermione?” She felt something jump inside of her, her innings contracting and relaxing in excitement just because a boy called her by her first name. Rose would laugh at her if she knew. 

“None of your business, Potter.” Was her answer; out of defense, out of feeling cornered. She knew he would see through that as well, but all that the realization could accomplish was to get Harry to yell a little less loudly. Petty defiance made him mad, no matter the reason. And she felt like making him angry, not only because it was quite fair - considering, especially, that he was the culprit of her feeling like a prisoner in her own body -, bt also because anger was the best misdirection in this case, which meant he would probably not see that what she wanted was to t _ ake a delicious bite of that bloody fine ass. _

“Mrs. Minister,” He stood up, posture stiff. Oh, yeah. He was going to yell at her for sure. Fin thing was, she wasn’t even bothered. In the end, it wasn’t just anyone unimportant in her life yelling at her; it was someone who had once known her  inside out, and vice-versa. What people thought of it mattered little; there was no one able to do what she did and they all knew it. 

“What’s that, Mr. Potter?” She asked him, looking unimpressed. Just to pis him off a bit more. 

“Can we speak? Privately, please.” He asked. She felt warm  he had been able to contain his volcanic temper in order not to disrespect her in front of his own peer, even thought she was deliberately taunting him. 

She let a beat pass, as if she was considering saying no. 

“Would you please?” She looked at the rookie, who nodded and scurried off quickly, shutting the doors afterwards. She felt his shields coming up around the room quickly, almost automatically. What she had of easiness with intricacy, he had in raw power. 

“Why are you doing this?” He asked directly. Air escaped her lungs all a once; his eyes taking the movement in.  “I have ever only seen you act like this with Umbridge.” 

She suddenly wanted to laugh. “That’s of no concern for you, Mr. Potter. I will refrain from expressing my feelings in front of your subordinates again, it was very unprofessional of me. Especially when you showed so much constraint towards me.” That was it. Very polite and professional. Good. 

“That’s not enough for me.” He took a step closer to her, and she couldn’t help but take a step back. 

“Well, that’s a bloody shame then, cause it’s all I have!” Her chest burst with the possibility of finally letting her anger out along with her voice. Despite their differences, she could never not feel safe with him. After all that time, all the experiences shared, every near-death they brushed with, that only didn’t become an active death experience because they had each other’s backs. He may have grown, she might have changed, but they knew each other’s cores.  _ Harry _ and  _ safe _ were irrevocably carved to the same rib of her body; undeniable, unavoidable. 

“Stop lying to me!” He yelled right back, and God and Merlin both, it felt  _ good _ ;; her fire not shamed but embraced by another’s - only one time she felt that alive was flying from the Room of Requirement. 

Her back hit the cold wall painlessly as she took another step back, away from his forward, always forward, movement. His chest touched hers, her stomach dropped, her knees lost firmness. The flames in his eyes didn’t scare her, though: it only made her want to step into it and  _ burn _ , her eyes locked, his breath right over hers-

“Madam Minister.” Someone, Lydia, oh my God, called her from the door, just five or six  steps away. Harry’s body completely covered her view from her secretary, but it didn’t take a genius to know that the proximity between their bodies wasn’t the appropriate social distance between friends, let alone colleagues, or boss and subordinate. 

She pushed Harry back a bit; he didn’t resist. “Yes, Lydia?” 

“Mr. Weasley is here to see you.” She said, a tone that implied gravity. “I already sent Mr. Grey and Mr. Potter’s things through the back door; I’m pretty sure he didn’t see anything.”

Hermione was struck. She never asked the woman to do such a thing, especially because it wasn’t Lydia’s  job to deal with Hermione’s personal life beyond pushing forward a few calls. 

Lydia seemed half ashamed, half terrified. “Did I do wrong?” 

“No.” Harry answered for her, and she felt more naked than ever, in front of those two people, who she had no option but to trust. “She just can’t remember how it feels to have someone in her corner.” 

As soon as the words left his mouth, they rang shamefully true through her. She flushed. 

“Shut up.” She hit his arm lightly. The smile on his lips could light up the whole freaking Great Hall. Fuck, why did he had to look so gorgeous? They were both closer to forty than to twenty, but the years only did him well. “Thank you Lydia. I’m going to talk to him” 

“If he lets you speak at all, you mean.” She spoke before her filters kicked back in and looked beet red right afterwards, face full of regret for her spontaneity. 

Harry’s face turned to pity, turned to Hermione, and it was like a bucket of cold water over her everything. “Would you please leave through the back door as well?” She asked him, and he seemed confused by that. Seemed like he didn’t remember just how bitter his friend could be. 

“Is he…  _ fuck _ .” Cogs turned quickly in his head. He was too good at deducing stuff now; maybe not logically, but certainly when it came to human behavior and its motivators. “Is it like Dean’s Forest again?” 

She just shook her head somberly. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Turning around, she opened the passage behind her bookcases, a passage that could only, of course, be opened from inside. 

Harry looked like he wanted to say something else, but it wasn’t the time; Ron was waiting. 

* * *

 

Harry had just left when Ron came in, and by his face, he meant business. Or, well. He meant  _ his _ business. 

“Hermione,” Ron stayed straight up, forcing her not to sit down as well. 

 

“What can I do for you, Ronald?” She asked him, keeping her hands relaxed. He hadn’t been an auror for long, but he could still notice that kind of physical tension on her. After all, they had been married for a while. 

“You can start by letting go of Rose’s and Hugo’s custody right now, since you won’t have time for them anyway.” He looked victorious already. That hit her right in the chest, harder than any magic that Harry could ever perform. 

“What?”

“I want full custody.” Ron repeated, like it was the most normal thing ever to require of someone. “You only work anyway, and when you’re not working you’re going around with Harry, so I’m sure that won’t be any hardship for you.”

That also hurt, but in a very different way. She had never,  _ never _ missed anything with her children. She was busy, yes, but she had been there for them all along, so far as to postpone a meeting with other three world leaders to watch Rose’s recital and to miss another because Hugo had been sick. She was their  _ mother _ , and while she had her troubles with Ron, he was their father too, and a good one at that. 

But trying to take them away from her? That was a step too far. 

“You listen to me, Ron Weasley,” She took a step forward, and for a moment she saw uncertainty on him. Perhaps that was all he wanted: to tear a reaction out of her. Well, he was going to have a reaction alright. “We are divorced and our assets are split. You got the house, you got to badmouth me to your family, to our friends, you get to think whatever you want about me, my work or the fact that Harry is back, and, from what I understood, divorcing your sister. But you  _ do not _ ,” Hermione took another step forward, taking pleasure in seeing him take a step back. “I repeat, you  _ do not _ , get to take my children away from me.”

“You’re never there anyway!” He stammered the first line, starting to yell. “You never wanted anything to do with us! You were always too busy for your family!”

“No, Ron.” She spoke evenly. “I was too busy to face our marriage. Because it was a disaster and I wasn’t happy. I was never too busy to participate on my children’s lives, and you weren’t either. On that account, we did right.” She faced him full on. “You are a wonderful father to them, and I don’t want to involve them in our marital problems, Ron. Let’s share custody, like grown-ups. It’s bad enough that they can’t be in the same room with both of us at the same time for the time being, or we’ll end up fighting.” 

He seemed at loss of words, and she could see tears forming in his eyes. Hers ended up doing the same in response. “But you-,” His voice got choked up. “-you and, and Harry, you’re-” 

Hermione shook her head, her own tears flowing from her eyes. “I’m not, Ron. Never was. Listen,” She took another step forward, but, now, the intent wasn’t to intimidate him. “I know it hurts. And I know it seems like it doesn’t, because I learned to hide very well. You’ve seen me in the beginning of this job, I was constantly frustrated and swallowing anger, and everything I say matters. It’s dangerous, I had to learn to conceal it.” 

“But from  _ me _ ?” He shook his head. “Your husband?” 

“I’m not saying I never made any mistakes, Ron. It’s both our faults. I didn’t say anything, but you didn’t either. We ended up resenting each other for that, and that’s not healthy for any of us.” She wiped her face with her hands. “To be honest, I thought the problem would go away at first, or that marriage was supposed to be like that anyway. But, while I haven’t seen my parents in a while, seeing yours…” She looked at him wistfully. “You know we weren’t what we were supposed to be, Ron. Not happy all the time, that’s impossible, but we were  _ miserable. _ ”

“We could have fixed it.” He insisted, wiping his face as well. There was no heat to his words. 

“Maybe, if we had the perception we have now, back then, way before this turned into such a big problem.” Was her answer. “I’m sorry, Ron. I really am. I did love you, and I think a part of me always will. You were my first boyfriend, my husband, the father of my children-”

“You did dump Krum to be with me.” Ron cut in with a tiny curl of his lips. She had to roll her eyes, but she was smiling. 

“Are you ever going to stop measuring dick size with Viktor? Merlin, Ron.” She teased him back. Tension dissipated. 

Ron took a deep breath in, rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands, and let the air go slowly. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’ve been acting like an arse.” 

She shrugged. “It happens. It’s fine.” Hermione answered, calmer too. 

A few moments passed. “Did Harry told you why he and Ginny broke up?” He asked her. Hermione shook her head. “Apparently she cheated on him.”

“Oh.” Was Hermione’s response. She was no one to judge, but that had to hurt. 

“Yeah,” He put his hand through his hair. “Never thought Ginny would do that.” 

“None of us knew how hard it actually is to live in the real world.” Hermione shrugged. 

“No need to tell me.” He eyed her. “How is Harry?” 

She had to shrug again. “Not sure. He’s not exactly speaking to me.”

“What did you do?” Ron asked, frowning, and, she thought, it was probably  _ not _ the time to say why they hadn’t spoken in so many years. 

“The last Department Chief, well… he wasn’t the most competent. I sort of was covering for him so the place still run.” She bit her lower lip. “So when Harry came along-” 

“-you handed it to him a mess? Oh, Hermione.” Ron shook his head, but he was smiling. “He must be pissed.” 

“He yelled at me, even,” They both chuckled. “You should ask him out for a pint. I mean, if he won’t talk to me, maybe he’ll talk to you?” 

“I’m Ginny’s brother, I’m not sure he wants to talk to me about his problems with her.” He grimaced. “Not sure I want to hear that, too.” 

“That’s our fault for marrying between ourselves.” She slowly walked back to her desk. “Will you be OK?” 

“Yes, it’s fine.” Ron promised. “Once again, I’m sorry. For threatening you with the kids, I mean.” 

“Do it again and I’ll make sure you can’t have any more of them.” She sang-sung. “But it’s fine, we’re good.” 

He nodded as he left, shutting her door behind him. 

Perhaps it hadn’t  _ all _ been a mistake. 

  
  


_ I am the autumnal sun, _

_ With autumn gales my race is run; _

_ When will the hazel put forth its flowers, _

_ Or the grape ripen under my bowers? _

_ When will the harvest or the hunter's moon _

_ Turn my midnight into mid-noon? _

_ I am all sere and yellow, _

_ And to my core mellow. _

_ The mast is dropping within my woods, _

_ The winter is lurking within my moods, _

_ And the rustling of the withered leaf _

_ Is the constant music of my grief...  _

_ Henry David Thoreau _


	6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

 

The Scamander residence always looked like something from another world. Plants and magical - perhaps some muggle, too - creatures in various states of health and comfort hung around as if it was the most natural thing in the world for a hippogriff to peacefully allow bowtruckles to play around on and under their feathers. There was an aura of cultivated happiness and tenderness so contagious, it was impossible not to drown into it. And that was exactly what Hermione was looking for when she knocked on the front door: peace from a place she couldn’t reach by herself. 

“Come on in!” Luna’s cheery voice greeted from the inside, and Hermione could smell tea and fennel bread. It made her open a smile as she walked in, until she saw a familiar blond head turning towards her from the kitchen table. 

“Oh.” She looked from Malfoy to Luna with unconcealed surprise. “You already have a visitor. I can come back later, Luna, I’m sorry to come unannounced-”

“Sit down, Hermione. I made tea.” Luna told her, firmly and gently. She had been like that ever since her first child, still airy and almost unreal, but now she didn’t beat around her friend’s bullshit anymore. “Draco was just talking about how Harry came back to England.”

“You- you were?” She frowned, still uncertain, but took the chair he chivalrously stood up to offer her. Luna scurried off to her counters to get another cup of tea for her as she watched the scene unfold. 

“Yes.” Malfoy answered, looking very comfortable in Luna’s house, even with Hermione beside him. From all of them, he had been the one to reach a certain emotional maturity first, probably due to his early mistakes. She wasn’t close to him, but even she could see how he changed over the years, especially after marrying Astoria. “I found him last night drunk alone at the Leaky.”

“Oh my God.” She grimaced as her tongue slipped. “Is he OK?”

“Yes, I took him to his hotel and left him to sleep.” Malfoy answered. “He wouldn’t stop talking about you, I thought I should get him out of sight before he said something that would end up on the first page of the Prophet.” His tone was non-judgemental, and he didn’t seem to be fishing for more information. Hermione couldn’t be more grateful. 

“Thank you, Malfoy.” 

“It’s fine.” He smiled, teasing but playful. “He did say some interesting things, though.”

She flushed to the roots of her hairs. What was he talking about?

“Draco, stop messing with her,” Luna chastised him, serving them tea. Green with jasmine, it smelled wonderful, and Hermione promptly hid her burning face behind the mug while she sipped on it. 

He chuckled. “Hey, it’s the truth!” He looked at Hermione. 

“I’m sure he said nothing much.” The hostess sat down in front of them. “Harry was always very discreet in public. At least after he graduated.” She shrugged. 

“Yes,” Hermione agreed. “But drunk Harry is babbling Harry. I’m not sure it’s impossible for him to have said something that he shouldn’t.” She eyed Malfoy. “So thank you.”

“It’s fine, mrs. minister. I’m glad to have served our country and avoided a scandal involving you, your former husband and your best friend.” He was smirking, the bastard. 

“Why the smirk, then?” She asked him, one eyebrow raised. 

He bit his lower lip. “I’ve been making bets with people for the last twenty years about you three. I can’t count on my fingers the people that owe me money now.” 

“Depending on how things turn out, Malfoy,” She sipped idly on her tea. “The interest from that money is mine.”

His face split in a big smile. “Whatever you say, mrs. minister.” Damn that Slytherin. “Whatever you say.”

 

* * *

  
  


The ballroom was full, and Hermione was dressed to the nines, as she should. The party was local, so there was no need to announce her; that didn’t stop Malfoy from waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs as if she was a debutant anyways. 

“I have no idea why I agreed to this.” She told him between her teeth, accepting the hand that he was offering. 

“You agreed because I’m a widower and no one can say no to Luna.” He answered, smiling charmingly to the public while doing so. Malfoy was well-trained in Ministry-approved behavior; of that she was quite safe. “We’ll have fun.”

“I never have fun. This is work, Malfoy. It’s not supposed to be fun, it’s supposed to be serious and to run smoothly, if I can help it.”

“You always can.” He praised. “But you have to admit, having me here does take a lot of the load off. I know the Ministry inside out, it’s what my father trained all my life for.” He chuckled even. Just like Harry, age only did Malfoy good; she hated them both deeply from inside her Muggle spanx. “I can, and will, help. So perhaps you can have a bit of fun.”

“What’s in it for you?” Hermione smiled and waved for a few people. “I still don’t understand.”

Malfoy sighed, his smile wilting a smidge. “Since Astoria passed, I’ve been practically home alone in that big house. My son’s at school more than he’s not, I only go to work and back. Last week I caught Potter drunk on the Leaky by accident; I was there to exchange a bottle of wine that was sent to me wrong.” His eyes darkened to a highland storm. “I was so bored that I would rather push my way through the crowd to exchange that wine instead of sending an owl with a letter like people do.” 

She thought about the lonely nights on the hotel, the cold that made her want to call Ron back, if only to sleep with her; she couldn’t imagine how it felt to have a dead spouse, especially being so young. “I’m really sorry we couldn’t help Astoria.”

He shook his head. “She didn’t want me to wallow in her absence, so I won’t. I don’t think I could ever stop mourning her, but she’d never forgive me if I spent my days like Snape, going on only for a child, a piece of her that she left for the world and for me. No,” Malfoy made his smile bigger, brighter, once again. “Instead, I can come to this ball with you and see if I can live vicariously through whatever cheesiness that comes out of Potter’s drunk mouth.” 

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “You need a date. I’m sure we can find someone to go out with you.” 

“Maybe later I’ll consider it.” Was his reply as he grabbed them both flutes of champagne. “No Gryffindors.” 

“We’ll let Luna choose someone.” She teased him, but their banter was quickly replaced by more serious matters when the duke of some mysterious land country came to discuss education methods with her. 

Malfoy was right, the bastard; the night flowed much easier and lighter with him to help her navigate the conversations, the news, situations that required much tact and sometimes some inside info that was purposefully not fed to her. Just for one, if it wasn’t for him, she would have complimented the bulgarian Minister of Transportation’s mistress as his wife; but Malfoy was able to stop her before she could say anything, and pretend to harmlessly compliment the woman by flirting with her, letting the right name slip into Hermione’s ears before a catastrophe was set. Luna might be somewhat breezy for a lot of things, but her perception was nothing less than spot on about Malfoy aiding her in a situation of social and political stress like a Ministry ball. 

“Oh, no,” He interrupted an elderly wizard, someone very rich who had been speaking about peach orchards for the last half an hour, very politely. “You all will have to excuse me and my companion, but this is my song, and I haven’t danced to it since my late wife passed away.” He received some pitying, sympathetic smiles from the circle of people around them while he took Hermione’s hand on his. “We have to dance.”

Before she could attempt at a polite refusal Malfoy was already dragging her expertly through the crowd to the dancefloor; she felt like a robot as he appropriately took her into his arms to dance. 

“Just relax, I know what I’m doing.” Malfoy asked. It was easy, after that, to let go and let him lead; he had proved competent in every other area of the social gathering, why not this one? As said it was done; he danced very well and guided her across the ballroom, making it seem to others as if she possessed a grace that had never been hers. It made her look good, ut It made her look good to people; it also made people actually  _ look _ at them, and her mother’s God only know the sort of gossip that such an image would make arise in the Ministry’s hallways. 

Her musing were interrupted by the lights flickering, the whole ballroom on and off as static spread through the air, a faint smell of ozone and  _ Harry _ .

Neither her nor Malfoy needed to look for explanation for that; they both knew what Harry’s magic felt like first hand - Malfoy even had the scars to prove it. He was right there, just on the outskirts of the dancefloor. His electric eyes bore holes into Malfoy; the blond man didn’t let go of her, but also didn’t move another inch. 

“He’s going to kill me, isn’t he?” He asked her. “Last week I caught him drunk talking about you, this week I’m suddenly your date to a Ministry ball. He’ll think I did this on purpose.” 

“Doesn’t matter what he thinks.” She corrected Malfoy, taking her eyes off of Harry. “We are not together. Never will be. Hey,” Hermione grabbed the  lapels of his suit, bringing Malfoy’s attention back to her. “Hey. That will  _ never _ happen again.” She told him, one hand timidly touching the probable place for the remaining  _ sectumsempra _ scars on his chest. 

There was a mask of amusement hiding a hint of fear behind his eyes. “I know that.” He answered, holding her hands against his chest, over his suit. “I know it.” A nervous chuckle left him. “I guess old habits die hard.” 

“Yes, they do.” Hermione agreed, seeing as the chandelier started to slowly swing; Harry’s eyes still on them. Malfoy kissed her hands before taking a step back, bowing formally to finish their dance. 

“I would rather avoid standing in his way again, if I can help it, though.” He told her as things started to slow down around them. “I hope you understand.”

She did. She could never in good sense step foot into Malfoy Manor ever again, no matter how much Astoria and Draco had changed it, no matter that it was now a place of the most beautiful family memories little Scorpius could ever wish for. Hermione nodded. 

“Thank you for tonight.” She said honestly. “It was fun.”

He couldn’t resist; Malfoy winked at her and a jar of cocktail shattered on the waiter’s tray near them. “Told you.” He said before taking his leave, head held high, step as feathery as it was when he was dancing. 

She didn’t go to Harry, he didn’t go to her. But the lights stopped flickering and the chandelier stopped swinging, staying firmly attached to the ceiling the whole night. There was a sense of shame from his looks towards her, but there was no need to solve everything at once. 

It was enough  for the night. 

 

and all that time, you thought

golden-armoured braggarts

could storm my heart into

surrender. oh, mama.

what did i care to be a bride

when i could be queen?

Letters from Persephone - Natalie Wee


	7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

 

Buying a flat for herself was a big step, she knew that. Knowing it didn’t make her excited like she felt she should feel. It felt like a mistake; unlike her marriage to Ron, though, it was an inevitable one.

It was a very bare flat, near the Ministry, industrial style. Wasn’t actually a flat; the bed was up in a loft. One bathroom, one small kitchen, lots of windows, up high in the building for privacy: it was better than a hotel room.

Luna, Neville and Malfoy helped her move. It wasn’t like she had a lot of things, but it had been fun - she bought them cookies, they made coffee, Malfoy filled her place with rugs and cushions (“I know you weren’t going to buy more than the bare minimum, so I bought you stuff that’s gonna make your home feel like, you know. A home.”). It felt less bare than it had been when she first got the new furniture delivered; there was already a laughter from Malfoy, sitting on the floor and watching her struggle with the coffee maker; there was Luna throwing cardboard on his hair to make him look like some creature she and Rolf were studying; there were Neville’s warm smile as he left her a few plants, useful and easy to take care of. There was love.

So the chill that came up her spine as soon as she let the keys go over the porcelain keyholder was strange, even for her. She had her wand firmly in her hands before even taking the next breath.

“It’s me.” The voice beside her said, and kissed her while her brain was still processing to whom it belonged. It was too quick, too desperate; there was no enjoyment, so she pushed him and turned the lights on.

“What the hell, Harry?” She demanded, letting her purse go on her couch, enraged with him.  

He had an anguished expression on his face. While she could relate, it didn’t mean she was going to accept it.

She was worth more than that.

“I just-” He stumbled into his words. He had dated two girls, only had sex with one his whole life; his inexperience was showing. Not that she was much different. Mirrors, in that way: none of them ever thought it would come to this. “I needed to see you.”

She turned her back on him, turned on the coffee maker. The noise from the beans being grinded was efficient to muffle her thoughts for however long the process took. “And you chose this?” She asked when it was done. “Waiting for me in the dark, inside my own apartment?”

“I couldn’t wait!” He tried to defend himself. She shook her head. Grabbed her cup of coffee, sat down on her couch.

“On the day of my wedding,” She started, the memory fresh as it had been. “I felt it too. It’s funny because, when we were kids, I barely felt any attraction to you at all.” She took another sip as he settled awkwardly on the couch in front of hers. “But on the weeks that came before the event, if felt like you were everything I wanted to get my hands on. I thought I was self-sabotaging; thought it was my fear trying to find an escape from something I was very scared of. I mean, marriage. With mine and Ron’s history.”

Harry said nothing, he only watched her, a guilty expression on his face.

“Don’t get me wrong, I loved Ron. I still do, don’t think I can ever stop completely caring about him.”

“I love him too.” Harry butted in, diverting his eyes when they met hers. “I mean. Not like you did. But I love him too.”

“I know.” Hermione nodded. “But when you asked me if I was sure… all I wanted to do was say no. I never lied to you.”

“I know.” He agreed. “I remember. You just never answered.”

“Yeah.” The woman admitted, now her time to look down in embarrassment. “It wasn’t fair that I was feeling those things towards you just before my wedding. It wasn’t fair to Ron, to his family, to me.” She shrugged. “So I didn’t answer you. I felt ashamed, and then I thought it had been just nerves and that after me and Ron were married and living together, it would pass.”

“I felt the same thing with Ginny.” Harry sighed, his hand through his hair in discomfort as it had always been. “After your wedding I thought my window had closed completely. And I did love her.”

“I know you did.” Hermione agreed with a tender smile. “But the ‘what if’ is a very strong ghost, isn’t it?”

She let him digest it; stood up, grabbed a cup of coffee for him. Their fingers touched as she passed the blue mug to his hands; the same thing that pulled her forward and up by her navel, sparked in his eyes. She felt a shiver; without a coat, there was no concealing it. But then again, perhaps, there was no need, even as his trained eyes drank it up with the same gulp his lips took coffee in.

“I told you all of this to say that I think my only mistake with Ron was rushing things. It was after the war and we were all very eager to leave it all behind is, and that meant we didn’t think things through appropriately.” She sighed. “I love him, but anyone with half a brain could see that we are not compatible, me and Ron. And you and me…” She eyed him. “I may want you - trust me, I do - but I’m not stumbling into another relationship, especially so soon after my divorce.”

Harry nodded, understanding it. He looked defeated for a few beats of her heart, and then something went through that sharpened mind of his. “Wait. You said you’re not stumbling into another relationship, and I apologize for today. It gets… lonely, living in a hotel.”

“I understand.” She soothed him.

“...-But that doesn’t mean you’re not open to being courted, right?” He asked, seeming somewhat excited. That sort of… scared her.

“Courted? What?”

“You know what I mean.”

“You never courted anyone in your life!” She felt nervous, unsure why.

“No.” He conceded, already walking to the door. “But I know exactly who to ask.”

She just watched, powerless, as he left her place, wondering how the hell this became her life.

 

* * *

 

“There’s another one coming.” Lydia warned from her desk; Hermione’s face made a run to hide behind her hands. “Should I bring it to your desk?”

“Yes, please, Lydia. Put it at the end of the row.” She asked the other woman, who had a mischievous smile behind her professional facade. She would be a mockery of a detective, that one. “Stop amusing yourself with my misery.” She asked the woman as she entered her room, but it had no heat to it, only garnering a chuckle from her secretary.

“I think it’s cute.” She told Hermione, settling the flower vase on the long desk they had transfigured when the flowers simply wouldn’t stop coming. “He’s really perseverant.”

“Harry Potter never knew when or how to give up.” She massaged her forehead, eyes shut. “Until we won the war, that was a good thing; now it’s just annoying.”

“Did I hear someone talking about me?” Malfoy unceremoniously entered her room, eyes falling first on Lydia - for what seemed to be a moment too long, how interesting; Hermione filed that information to tease him later -, then on the flowers, and then on Hermione’s defeated expression. “He finally made a move, huh?”

“Many moves, I’d say.” Lydia intervened before she could stop herself, and Malfoy laughed. The woman blushed, but opened a smile as well.

“Did he go to you for advice?” Hermione asked him, “I know those flowers have meanings, even though I don’t actually know the meanings.” She had been certain he was the answer, but he shook his head.

“Blaise and Pansy.” Draco corrected her, smirk turning devilish. “I don’t know how he came up with the idea of asking them, but it seems they had some good romancing advice to give.” He stood up, going past Lydia to study the bouquets.

“I thought they were in Europe.” She commented, sighing again. “What is this? The year that all Hogwarts comes back to England for a reunion?”

“When the Savior asks you for a favor you don’t simply turn him down, Hermione.” He playfully chastised her, showing one of the flowers to her. “Purple hyacinth. It means _I’m sorry_.” Malfoy turned to her. “What is he sorry for?”

“Next.” She dismissed the questions, inciting an even more malicious smile on his lips. What was it with her friends? Were they all such insensitive bastards?

“Fleur de Lis.” He showed her the next. “ _I value your friendship._ ”

“Cute.” Lydia gave her input, leaning on the round table by the corner while watching Malfoy’s flairs.

“This one his jonquil, means a desired for returned affections.” He continued. “Stock means _you’ll always be beautiful to me._

“Aaaw,” The blond woman cooed Harry’s ridiculous attempts. “The next is azalea, means _take care of yourself for me_.”

“Very good.” Draco praised with some surprise that anyone knew anything about those old traditions still. “It was the last thing Astoria gifted me.”

Some silence followed that statement. “You’ll make me cry, Malfoy, come on!” Hermione quickly wiped her moist eyes, same as Lydia did. “Go on with the flowers, please.”

“Sure, sure,” He came out of his own wanderings. “Daisy means loyal love. Red roses mean love and respect.”

“Delivery for mrs. Granger.” A delivery man came through her half-shut door, looking sheepish. “I’m sorry, there was no one at the door.”

“It’s alright.” She assured him. “Please put those on that table there, thank you.”

Malfoy sat down again, his posture, however, was of the cat who got the milk. She had seen it in Crookshanks too many times before he passed to miss recognizing it. “What’s that? What does that mean?” She asked him as she signed the delivery in person.

He waited for the delivery man to leave. Stood up, sat on her desk; he was always theatrical, but she had a sense that something else was going on there.

“Miss, can you hand me one of those roses, please?” He asked Lydia, who promptly did so.

He put it across the papers she had been working on; a single rose, something between orange and bright red. Flowers weren’t foreign to her but Ron usually brought his feelings to her in wildflowers, her favorite at the time.

“This, mrs. Granger,” He told her, a very intense look on his face; made her slightly frightened, even. “Means that you gotta grab your closest girlfriends and buy some new lingerie, because you’ll most likely be getting to know the Chosen Dick very soon.”

He said it all in such a serious tone, it took a moment for Lydia to burst on laughing. Malfoy quickly followed her; Hermione wished she could hide the mix of embarrassment, annoyance and surprise from her face, but she was sure she was just as red as Ron got, so it was no use.

“I hate you both.” She groaned, hands supporting her head from her forehead, elbows on the desk; it just elicited even louder laughter from both of them. “Leave my office. Both of you, leave me alone!” She put her McGonagall face on, but apparently it wasn’t good enough, they were still laughing.

“Whatever you wish, madam Minister.” Malfoy said and stood up, went to Lydia; he playfully bowed in front of her as he asked for her hand, she chuckled and accepted. Like that, her arm very formally linked to his, he walked her out of the office and shut the door; but not before winking at her.

She sighed, the single coral rose a symbol in front of her. Now, alone, she could acknowledge the pull from her navel again, same as when their fingers touched when he… _visited_ her. He _wanted_ her. It had been hinted from the beginning that he _liked_ her; desire was another matter entirely.

Hermione stood up, transfigured one of her chairs into a full-length mirror, inspecting herself. Was she still desirable? The stock flower said he thought so; the coral rose added another whole layer to that statement. She was closer to forty than to her thirties, two pregnancies, stress; she had never really saw herself as beautiful or desirable - well, never, except for that whole episode with Krum. But then she had been a teenager, young and fresh, bursting with all the good hormones; now she didn’t feel all that alive anymore.

There was no mistaking the message, though; Malfoy wouldn’t lie to her. Hermione wondered if he was right, but she didn’t want to push their newfound friendship. And little of the older friendships could actually help her that way. The closest friends she had were Ron, Harry and Ginny, and that would be a whole world of inappropriate to call Ginny for that.

Hermione sighed, rubbed her forehead, unmade the mirror.

“Lydia,” She asked from their line. “I need you to get me a number. Can you find someone for me?”

“Of course.” The woman said; thankfully not laughing anymore. “Who do you need?”

The Minister braced herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Website where I took the flower meaning information: http://thelanguageofflowers.com/


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't want y'all to get your hopes up, because I might take this chapter down later. I'm still deiciding if I can work around what's happening here. I'm not one to plan much on what I write, but I'm not sure HP audience is one that'll appreciate what I had in mind. I don't know.   
> Hope you enjoy it nonetheless.

Chapter Eight

 

Krum had aged, she thought as she hugged him on the station. His profession had always been physically trying; first as a Quidditch player, with the physical effort and the constant sunshine, then as a Quidditch teacher at Durmstrang. They had exchanged letters and cards throughout the years, and she was thankful for that. She needed him so. 

“Hermione,” He smiled at her, strong accent always present. “What a pleasure to see you.”

“Agreed.” She smiled, guiding him throughout the busy room. “How have you been?”

“Good, very good.”

“And you, Hugh?” She asked, and by his look, it was very nice of her too. 

She had been fed the news and sent Viktor a letter back when it happened; but she could only imagine how a country like Bulgaria had taken the fact that their star player was gay. 

“I am fine, thank you for asking.” Krum’s partner, silver-haired and blue-eyed, smiled frankly at her while his husband put his arm around her waist, as did she; despite the years, it was good to see that she felt as close to him as ever. “But we were both very curious about your reasons to call us here. I assume,” Krum poked her on the stomach. “That it was not me that you needed here.” He looked at Hugh. 

She looked sheepish. “I need your husband’s assistance, yes.” Hermione admitted, seeing they exchange a look. “But I’ll pay for it however you want. And of course I know of your hate at hotels; you can stay at my place.”

Hugh smiled as if seeing her desperation. “It was a nice opportunity to get to know London, and Viktor’s old friends. I thank you for the invitation, especially since it comes from the Minister herself.”

“Yeah, that,” She scratched her neck. “You’re not here in official business. This is more… personal.”

Another look exchanged by the couple. “Then how, exactly, can I be of service for you?”

Hermione blushed intensely, drawing the Krums’ attention. She had always looked so composed in the television screen. 

“Let’s just go to my place. I’ll explain it over tea.”

 

* * *

  
  


“Why didn’t you say before? I could have sent you samples before coming here!” Hugh told her warmly as they sat on her living room. The bowtruckle that Luna left her as a gift yawned by the shade of the mugworth that Neville left the week before, the only sound in the room. 

“Every packaging sent to me is inspected for my protection.” She hid her blush behind her teacup. “I didn’t want anyone to know.”

Viktor nodded, understanding it intimately; the lack of privacy took its toll sometimes. “Alright then. So you need some custom-made clothes from my very talented designer husband to impress… who?” He asked, a warm, but nonetheless inquisitive look on his face. 

“That’s… also non-divulgeable information.” She flushed even harder. 

“It’d be easier if I knew his or her tastes.” Hugh tried to come to Viktor’s aid. 

As fate had it, that would be the moment for an owl to come through her open window with a bouquet and a note; one of each of the flowers he had given her the week before. “Date? H.P.” said the note, and Viktor, who had been sitting beside her, saw it. 

“HP from Harry Potter?” He asked her, looking mildly excited. 

“The wizard who saved the wizarding world from Lord Voldemort?”  Hugh raised his hands as if to ask them to give him time to gather his thoughts. "That Harry Potter?" He whistled. "You only fish whales, don't you?"

She flushed. "I'm regretting this already."

"No, no, you need clothes." He clapped his hands excitedly. "Not that I have heard the spicy tale, I am sure that I am the best person for the job."

"She does not only need  _ outer _ clothes." Viktor said as he pointed to the one coral rose she kept in a single glass vase over her countertops. "She needs  _ lingerie _ as well."

Hugh's mouth opened in an adorable O shape. "I am really good at that.” He winked at her. 

Hermione hid her face on her hands, and the bowtruckle jumps to her hair, playing with the light brown strands. 

 

* * *

  
  


She didn’t recognize herself. 

It was just a couple of fabric pieces that Hugh had with himself, enchanting needles and threads to give her a glimpse of what he imagined her garments could look like. Then she shut herself into her room to try it on. 

When she thought lingerie, she thought reds and purples, and there was nothing wrong with that. It was just… not her. Even black was too daring, sometimes. So she stuck to cotton and light, pale shades of yellow, beige, even white. Her whole sexuality, she realized, was somewhat still untapped - she was always too busy, and she had feared that he would think her a whore, and, and and - in the end, she knew what it was. She considered herself to be a pro-feminism, but was dead afraid of her own sexuality. 

Clearly, Hugh wasn’t. While she thought herself ugly, he saw her lines as a woman. He was really good, but not only at making clothes, but making the clothes be a beautiful framing to go with the unique art that lied beneath the fabric. And that’s how she felt. 

The top was made from peach lace and satin - no need for wires, just a demi-bra with three strips of sheer lace pointing up, framing her breasts very nicely, and high-waist panties that also alternated lace and silk. The color diffused against her skin, like peaches on milk, making it more inviting to touch, to feel. She gave into the temptation, allowing her hands to frame her body, and then slide down, and up, feeling her skin. Yes, she wasn’t as tight as she had been at seventeen, but she was no athlete. There was a bit too much around her navel, on her inner thighs, on her back by the height of her breasts, but she could see them as marks of her life now, not as flaws, exactly. 

She didn’t recognize herself, because what she saw was beauty. It was something she had to learn, still, what it was, but now she had the time. She had the space. 

She just wasn’t sure she had the courage to. 

* * *

  
  


They were having lunch after fabric-shopping on a very cute french cafe that had tables on the sidewalk, when a voice caught her attention. 

“Ron Weasley!” Viktor called him with a big smile, making Ron, who had been, at least apparently, trying to avoid their attention, turn to them with a yellow smile. 

Talk about awkward. 

“Hi, mr. Krum. So long no see.” 

“Agreed!” He answered with a tender smile, those reserved for long-lost friends, and then remembered. “This is my husband, Hugh.”

“Hus- _ oh _ .” Ron’s face turned a bit green, and then a lot red. “ _ Oh. _ ” He looked at Hermione, who shrugged discreetly. 

“I can see your mind whirring from here, my friend.” Viktor was still smiling, and motioned to the fourth, empty chair. “Please, sit with us. Have a coffee, or scones, if you still like those.”

“You… remember?” Ron sounded astounded by the information, as awestruck as he was the first time he met the bulgarian player. It was… cute, Hermione thought, finishing her scone. She knew he’d be less tempted to say no if she wasn’t there, and he deserved it; some friends and a little chat. 

“Well, boys, you all have a good time.” She smiled, and Ron’s attention was caught by her. “My hour is up.”

“Oh, your meeting.” Hugh agreed. She had warned them her time was limited. “Alright then. Kick ass.” He grinned. 

“I do hope to.” She said as she nodded Viktor and Ron goodbye, leaving. 

Last thing she saw was him sitting down between Hugh and Viktor, looking like someone who still wasn’t processing what was happening. But he was relaxed, she thought, and Viktor’s smile was brilliant, and soon enough Hugh’s would be too, because Ron could be amazing when he had the opportunity.

She was glad to see him have a good time with an old friend. 

And she was also very happy that Hugh went to the trouble of teaching her some sewing spells and patterns, to help her while he wasn’t around. He taught her so much and she had no idea how to thank him. 

But she’d think about it later. She had some things to try.

* * *

 

Lydia didn’t say anything, but her smile told Hermione all she needed to know. 

Malfoy whistled as he passed her by, flowers on his hands, into her office. Lydia, no doubt. 

The reaction she wanted, though… 

“Mr. Potter, sir, incoming.” One of the older - maybe about their age - aurors warned him, and she had no idea why she was an  _ incoming _ , and, apparently, Harry didn’t know it too-

“Incoming? Wha-?” And then his eyes met her, and she did not look so different from before, but she  _ felt _ different, and that apparently made a different because he actually looked like he had been struck by something.  _ Incoming _ . Hah. 

“Herm- madam Minister.” He stood up clumsily, let a file drop, tried to catch it, grabbed only the cover, which meant the papers flew all over the floor. 

“We got it!” Two of the youngest tried to kneel beside her to get the files,  _ close _ , but Harry stopped them with a burning look that made them cower while his magic made the papers come back neatly inside the case. 

“What do we owe the honor of your presence here to?” He asked politely, and his eyes didn’t leave her dress. Good, cause the casual display of his control over his power made her shiver, and she didn’t want to be on the lower side of the scale between them. 

“The files from Williamson’s batch. I finished the last one. Thought I should come in person to see if there was anything I should sign after these.” Hermione answered casually, as she slipped the folder on his desk. 

“Here, just this one.” He sat back down to reach into one of his desk drawers for a paper ready for her to sign. 

As any normal person, she had to bend over a bit to properly write her name down on the paper. She had been facing Harry, though, who looked a little distracted right before he saw something behind her.  _ Then _ the windows opened all at once and “wind” blew five of the aurors to the ground, making the others laugh. 

She smiled to herself; she smiled at him, the cogs turned and clicked. Hermione gave him the papers back, standing straight again. “Will that be all, Mr. Potter?” 

Struck in the face was the look. She would have to share that memory with Malfoy later - he would laugh his ass off. 

“Actually, Mrs. Granger, I do think it’s cold here. Why don’t you take my coat for the day?” He took off his coat and tried to cover her with it, making Hermione want to chuckle. 

“I appreciate the thoughtfulness, mr. Potter.” She answered him, giving him back his coat. “But I’m feeling very warm today,”

“Hot, actually,” One of the youngest whispered from his place on the ground. 

“-and so, I don’t need your coat.” 

“But  _ I  _ need you to wear it.” He pleaded, voice lower, still holding the coat over her forms. 

She opened a big grin. “Scared of a little competition, Potter?” 

“Terrified of what I could end up doing to them, actually.” Was his honest answer. “This isn’t fair.” 

She raised her hand, putting a privacy spell around them. “I had two kids, I’ve seen you in the shower, how is any of this fair?” She felt every single one of her body cells tremble in shame and resentment. Not that he had said something, she knew he hadn’t, but her mind conjured it and the moment was ruined. She took a step too big for her legs wearing that dress. 

She wasn’t ready. As a teen she had been too skinny, loved and admired by Ron for her mind and skills, and because they were all awkward teens; now she was a grown woman and she knew what she saw reflected back by her mirror. She knew every scar, stretch mark, she knew it all. 

But harry didn’t. And she could spare them both the disappointment. Ginny still was a Quidditch player, she was an athlete. Did he think she was like that as well? 

Harry seemed confused. “What?” 

Hermione shook her head. That wasn’t his fault. “I’m sorry. Forget this all, I’m leaving.” The woman turned her back and left as quick as she could, feeling the ridiculous urge to cry her eyeballs out. 

Back in her office, Lydia and Malfoy were still talking. She walked past them and shut her door with a spell, unable to perform the usual pleasantries. 

She hid, but not really. There is nowhere to hide when what you’re trying to get away from is yourself. 


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi,  
> I'm sorry about the delay with this one. It's big, and I didn't feel like I could break it down into smaller pieces, for some reason. Also haven't been in the best headspace, so there's that. 29 days later, I give you chapter nine.   
> I hope you enjoy.

 

Chapter Nine

 

_ Hermione _

_ I don’t know what happened the last time we talked. I’m not entirely sure if I did something wrong or not. If I did, I’m sorry - I saw how your mood changed and I hope we can talk about the reason that you were so upset at some point. Maybe we can clear things out.  _

_ Also, you looked very beautiful the other day.  _ Very _ beautiful. I had to threaten suspension around here so they would stop talking about you. But I can assure you that they were respectful, and not because of me - we have a good team down here. I know you were the one to choose them, and you did it well.  _

_ Also, they did mention you’re scary. I thought you’d be very proud to know that.  _

_ So. Coffee?  _

_ Harry _

 

The letter sat on her desk all morning. She couldn’t take it home - Hugh and Viktor might find it, no matter how polite they were about her privacy, it was a small apartment. So it was just… there. Haunting her. 

“Hey. May I come in?” It was Ron waiting by her door. “I’m sorry to stick my head into your office like that, but I knocked and it didn’t seem like you were listening.” 

“I wasn’t, I’m sorry. Come on in.” She told him, motioning to the chair in front of her. “What’s it?” 

“Little bird told me you had trouble in the Auror’s Department the other day.” Ron told her, looking relaxed. “Thought at this point I could ask you about it.” 

She sighed and shook his head. “I can’t talk about this.” Was her answer. “I’m glad you two are talking again, though.” 

“Yeah… no. I actually stumbled on Williamson at the Leaky, and he said he heard the story from some rookie.”

“Shit,” She rubbed her forehead hard with her hand. 

“Hey, hey, it’s no big deal. They have nothing else to talk about.” 

“I worked so hard not to be the theme of gossip, you know that!” She stood up, torn. Of all people, Ron was the one who couldn’t hear that type of gossip. Not about her, not like that. 

“Hermione,” He called her name, softly. It always caught her attention like nothing else he did. “It’s OK.” 

Her eyes welled up. “No, it’s not.” 

“Yes, it is.” His hand closed around her wrist and pulled her gently closer to him. “It’s OK.”

“How can anything be OK?” The tears started to run, there was no stopping them. “I’m thirty six, I’m divorced, I have two kids. Nothing about this is OK.” 

“I’m not saying any of this is easy for me either-” He admitted. 

“You don’t have the stretch marks, or the cellulitis, or the pouches of fat, to prove it!” She got free from his touch and turned around, hugging herself. “You, Harry, Ginny, you all look like you did before-”

“Wait, of course we do no-”

“-and you talk about this being  _ hard _ on you! I know it isn’t easy, I know that,” She wiped her face on her hands. “But you don’t look  _ deformed _ .”

“ _ Deformed? _ ” Ron stood up, frowning. Merlin, he was so  _ tall _ . She always forgot it, until he decided he wouldn’t hunch over anymore. “Is that what this is about?” 

“I look disgusting, Ron!” She turned back to him, shaking. “I look disgusting, and I’m divorced, and no one will ever want me again. Shit, not even  _ you _ wanted me after the kids were born.”

“ _ I  _ didn’t want you?” He looked mad. “ _ Me? _ Hermione,  _ you _ didn’t let me  _ look _ at you after the kids were born! With Hugo you had a C-section and you asked me to close my eyes to help you dress!”

“Ron-” Her voice trembled, but he was having none of it. 

“No, now  _ you _ are going to listen. You’re an idiot.” He told her, plain and simple. “You’re an idiot, because you never looked in the mirror in the morning while dressing up, you chose your clothes without proving them on, we could only ever have sex with the lights off, and after the kids were born, you never took your nightdress off.” He listed, and she sat down on her chair. “You don’t get to pin this on me.” 

“Ron, please-”

“ _ You _ are the one who always forgot that you even have a body.” His voice softened, but he didn’t stop. “And being married to me was a way of keeping yourself comfortable with that.” He knelt before her, taking her hands on his. “You are a gorgeous woman, Hermione, and I’m sorry I couldn’t make you feel like you are.” 

“It’s not your fault.” She told him, squeezing his hands. 

“It is, a bit. I could have addressed it and never did.” He admitted, looking down at their hands together. “But now, as you said, we’re divorced. I missed my chance. But that doesn’t mean that I want you miserable.”

“There’s nothing you can do, Ron.” She shut her eyes to avoid his look. “I am what I am. I made made my choices. It’s done.”

Ron shook his head. “No, it’s not.” He grabbed a card from his pocket. “You can’t see  _ her _ , but she can probably refer you to someone who can.”

She eyed the card. “A therapist?”

Ron smiled. “You didn’t think I evolved to a emotionally developed human being by myself, did you?” He chuckled. “At first it was you. Not it’s a paid professional.” He smiled proudly. 

She chuckled as well. “I’ll think about it.”

“Yeah, you do that. And, afterwards, if things go wrong with Harry,” He addressed it for the first time, almost no bitterness to his tone. “I may try my luck again.”

Hermione smiled. “Thank you for this, Ron.”

“Hey, anytime.” He smiled back at her. “He’s not all that handsome, too, you know?”

She rolled her eyes. 

“No, I’m serious. I have loads of brothers, Charlie is the pretty one. Harry doesn’t look that good.”

“Bye, Ron.” She said as he shrugged, leaving, a lighter air around the office. 

She picked up the phone and dialed. 

* * *

 

“You have a visitor, mrs. Granger.” Lydia said through their line. “Can I send him in?”

“Who is it, Lydia?” She distractedly asked her. 

“It’s Thompson, mrs.” Was her answer. “From the Auror’s Department.”

She frowned. “Send him in.”

The young man came in - a rookie, no doubt - very nervous. And, holy crap, he had a bouquet on his hands. 

“Mrs. Granger?” He addressed her as a question.

“Yes?” She asked, one eyebrow raised. 

“These are for you.” He offered the bouquet to her, and after a quick scanning, she grabbed it, looking at the flowers.

“Thank you.” Hermione offered politeness. “Who sent them?”

Thompson got really,  _ really  _ red. “M-me, m’am.” 

Her frown deepened. “What?”

“Mr. Potter told us not to, and I know he’s probably got his eye on you too, and it’s probably inappropriate but you’re not my direct chief, and I-” He licked his lips, which were dry from being so nervous. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Her frown deepened. “What?”

“I can’t stop thinking about you.” He repeated, slowly. “I’d like to go on a date.”

“A… date?” She was still too shell shocked to answer properly. “What gave you the idea that any of this is appropriate?”

He sat down in front of her, looking defeated. “I’m sorry. I just-. I tried dating people, but since I entered the Ministry, you are all I think about.” He confessed, looking at his hands instead of her. “You’re incredibly intelligent, clever, resourceful, not to mention gorgeous. And, damn, you’re basically a legend.”

“Yes, a legend.” She rubbed her forehead. “That means a lot older than you.”

“So?”

“I’m flattered by your interest, but you don’t really know me.”

“I’d like to.” His answer was fast. “Hence the date.”

She thought about it. “That would set a horrible precedent.” She shook her pen. “And if you tell anyone anything, I’ll deny it and sue you, but I am interested in someone else right now.” 

“I know.” He nodded, face still clear. “I just want a date. That’s it. Get to know you, talk, share some wine and breadsticks, if it doesn’t come to dinner.” Thompson insisted. 

“Lunch.” She told him. “Tomorrow. Eleven thirty to one, and that’s it.”

“Great.” He opened a big, big smile. “What’s your favorite restaurant?”

“Tomorrow you have a meeting with the Unspeakables.” Lydia’s voice came from their shared line, and Hermione shut her eyes. 

“This was a private conversation, Lydia.”

“It’s still private.” The woman’s voice was nonchalant. “I am your schedule, remember?”

“Yeah, alright, I’ll deal with you later.” Hermione sighed. 

“Maybe I can bring something here.” He suggested then. “Grab your favorites, we have a quick lunch here, then I leave. Looks more comfortable, even.”

She wanted to. Talk to someone new, perhaps know, what he saw in her. Be admired, and have the opportunity to admire. To have fun. And to harmlessly train before going for Harry as someone who knew nothing about anything. 

"Alright. Eleven thirty." She told him. "I'd like a sandwich and a raspberry scone."

"Coffee? Tea?" He offered. 

"Hm. Both. Yes." Hermione smiled lightly. "Thanks."

"No, thank  _ you _ ." He smiled at her, standing up. 

* * *

 

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Lydia asked her a few minutes before Thompson left. She rearranged her files on her desk, judgmentally avoiding the other woman's eyes. 

"Lydia." She asked, cocking her head. "It's just a date."

"I know." He agreed. "But does the boy's boss know that?"

The Minister shrugged. "I'm not saying that I would  _ enjoy  _ seeing him in a date with another woman, but I would sure respect it." She countered. "It's not like we are committed or anything. I was married for a long time, I don't want to stumble upon another commitment like that. I want to be able to enjoy a bit, too." 

Lydia just arched one eyebrow. "I agree. But why would you want to enjoy walking a poodle when you can ride a dragon?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You forget that I did ride a dragon out of Gringotts."

"Who says I forgot?" She had almost left when the older woman was able to gather the courage to speak again. "How about you and Malfoy?"

She stopped abruptly. "What about us?"

"I saw him coming in here with flowers, and they were not a friendly token for me." She explained. "Where is he taking you?"

Lydia turned, looking terrified, mirroring the fear that Hermione felt. "It's a surprise, I don't know. That means I don't know how to dress." She sat down. "I don't think he's one of those guys who would take me hiking or horse-back riding on the first date, but who knows?"

Hermione smiled. "Do we have anything important this afternoon?" She asked. 

"Not really, why?"

Her grin brightened. "I want you to meet someone."

* * *

 

Afterwards, they were all drinking wine, tucked in Hermione's living room, Lydia still admiring her new dress. "You're possibly the most resourceful person I have ever met." She told Hermione with an awed smile. "I have always admired you, but honestly, now I feel like one of those crazy fans."

The Minister just chuckled. "Malfoy is also very resourceful." She pointed out. "The Zabinis as well."

"Yes, well. It seems like many diamonds came out of that war pressure." Lydia said, very respectful. 

Viktor chuckled. "She has always been like this. Even when we dated."

"I was new, and nervous, and I wanted to do well." Hermione explained with a sigh. "But at first I was just incredulous and excited. And then I went to buy the materials from the Diagon and I knew nothing about anything, and some people laughed at me, at my clothes and my cluelessness." She chuckled, but it was painful to do so. "I never wanted to feel like that again. So I did what I had to in order to avoid feeling shame about my origins ever again. And still, no matter how much I did or studied, it was still very hard to feel like I belonged."

"Except with Harry." Viktor reminded her. "There were other muggleborns there, but Harry had no idea of anything, I remember that. His… aunt and uncle, right? They hated magic and shielded him from everything until Mr. Hagrid was sent to fetch him."

"I felt like I could contribute, with him." She agreed. "He was the chosen one, but I think I was the only one who could see things from his point of view. For the Wizarding World, prophecies and destiny, reading minds and the future on stars and crystal balls, that's all normal. But for Muggles?" She shook her head. "It was insane and unfair. We were just kids. But the weight was on him and he had no idea how to carry it, because he had no idea of this world, and no one could explain it to him in a way that made sense for a muggle."

"So you were the translator." Hugh asked, listening to it all raptured. 

"Yes. At first." She agreed. "And then we were just… safe harbors, for each other. I had trouble with Ron, he had trouble with the world  _ and  _ with women, he had no family, mine couldn't possibly understand all the complexity of this new world I was suddenly immersed into." She shrugged. 

"I still remember his face when he saw you coming for the Winter Ball." Krum pulled his partner to kiss him on the head. "It was like something struck them both, him and Ron. Like they couldn't see what I had seen when we met." He leaned forward then, grabbing Hermione's hand. "This beautiful, intelligent, gifted woman."

She hummed. "Took me a long time to become that woman."

"She has always been there." He corrected her. "I saw it the very first day. I have an eye for potential." Viktor leaned back again. "It's no wonder I recruit kids for big Quidditch teams."

“Oooh, that’s so romantic!” Lydia stood up suddenly from her place on the couch. “I want more wine. Does someone want more wine?”

“No, but I’ll go with you fetch some peanuts.” Viktor stood up, following her to the kitchen area. 

Hermione took her eyes from them and, just looking at Hugh, she knew he wanted to ask her for something. So she decided to ease up the way. “I can’t thank you enough for coming here to help us for free like this.” She said, sliding her legs down the couch to lean forward, closer to him, for the privacy. “So if you want to ask anything, just… ask.” 

He hesitated for a bit more. “I wanted to talk to you. But we don’t know each other that well, and I’m afraid you’ll be rightfully mad.” 

She just waited, listening to Lydia and Viktor grabbing serving dishes and decanting more wine. 

He took a deep breath. “OK. Hm. So, Viktor… I love him, and I know he loves me. Unconditionally.” He started. 

“I can see that.” She agreed. 

“So, we talk a lot about things to try to get on the same page about them. We are not afraid to very maturely admit that we feel desire or admiration or anything, for other people. None of us actually acted on it, but we had always talked about how it would be OK if the other wanted to have sex with another person, or to propose a threesome, things like that.” 

“This is about Ron, isn’t it?” She asked directly, mercifully. 

Hugh turned red. “Yes. We… after that lunch, when they talked about old times and things that happened, I was fascinated. And when I talked to Viktor, he told me he felt the same.” He admitted. 

“I won’t say this isn’t weird.” She admitted with a small smile. “But honestly, I’ll get used to it.” 

His face split into a smile. “Seriously?”

“Of course.” Hermione grabbed his hand firmly. “But, you know, good luck flirting. He can be very oblivious.” She chuckled. 

“Yeah. That.” He licked his lips nervously, looking down. “Can… can you help us?”

Hermione sighed, but nodded. “Yes. But please, don’t bring him here?” Her nose wrinkled in distaste. “That would be too much for me."

"Noted." He squeezed her hand back. "Thank you."

"Treat him well and you'll have nothing to thank me for." She assured him, smiling. 

"I may not have anything to thank you for." He agreed. "But I'll be damned if I don't make you some Gryffindor red lingerie to impress that stupid little voice in your head that's telling you that you're not pretty enough."

It was her time to flush. They both knew it wasn't that simple, but it felt nice anyway. "Thanks, Hugh." 

"Thank me by treating yourself well." Hugh told her, right before Lydia and Viktor came back talking loudly, laughing, and obviously bringing more wine. 

"What are we talking about?" Viktor asked them. 

Hugh just looked at Hermione before answering. "Gryffindor-red lingerie."

Lydia licked her lips. "Can you make it in Slytherin-green too?"

They all burst laughing. 

* * *

  
  


"Can I come in?" Thompson asked, knocking on her door. He had two bags in his hands and a smile on his lips. 

She ended up smiling back. "Yes, please." The woman nodded. "Sit, Adam. We have plenty of time." She cleared her desk with a nonberval. Just after she noticed him gawping. 

"I brought what you asked for." He sat down in front of her, displaying the food containers before settling them. 

"Thank you, looks delicious." She opened one. "How is your day going?"

"Was a little nervous to come here." He revealed with a small smile. "But excited as well."

"You do know this ends here, right?" She tried to confirm with him again. 

"Yeah, it's fine." He nodded calmly. "Doesn't mean it's not exciting to be given the time of day."

"I hope that leads you to some good dates." She sipped the coffee he handed her. "I know some women will be curious to know what I saw in you."

Adam winked. "I'm counting on it." He started to eat, just like her. “So. What was your favorite subject in Hogwarts?” 

“I did love DA.” She said quickly. “But I liked Spells more. Maybe Ancient Runes?” Hermione chuckled. “Sorry, I can’t decide.” 

“You do love to learn.” He smiled admiringly. “Gotta be boring to work somewhere like here, where all is the same.” 

Hermione looked around her office. She had never thought like that. “I enjoy learning, but not enough to be an Unspeakable or something like that. I don’t learn all that well when I have nowhere or no power to apply what I learned.” She explained. 

“I understand,” He answered with admiration, and conversation kept going lightly and pleasantly for about an forty minutes-

-right until Harry knocked on her door and, after a beat (where Hermione thought it was Lydia), let himself in. 

It took him a moment to gather the meaning of it all - her favorites on the table, the smile on their faces as they ate. Then, the lamps on the chandelier all shattered. 

“Harry!” She chastised him, standing up. He looked beside himself. “What the hell?” 

“I’m leaving.” Adam stood up, smiling quickly at Hermione. “It was a huge pleasure. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to leave-” 

“I know I don’t.” He assured her. “But I want to.” He looked at Harry. “As your subordinate, I know I’m not supposed to say things. But you have a lot of stuff to work out, and I’ll advise you to do it soon.” He repaired the chandelier. “Before you put the whole Ministry down.” 

He left with Harry still completely immobile, looking at the vacant space between them. 

“I didn’t know you were-” He started, but she interrupted him. 

“I’m not.” Hermione assured him, taking a few steps closer. “Call it... training wheels.”

“Training wheels.” He repeated, tasting the words. “So you-”

She took another step forward, fear clogging her throat, fear of losing him pulling her forward. Hermione touched Harry’s hand softly. “No, Harry.”  _ I don’t want to date anyone else.  _

He nodded silently. He still didn’t look happy, but he seemed to understand. Something. 

“You’re always so afraid of making mistakes.” Harry commented, holding her hand and bringing it to his lips to kiss, to ask her with his own hand for her to cup his face, which she did. There was nothing else she wanted to do. “But what keeps people together is the ability and the willingness to repair the relationship.” He held her other hand, bringing it to the other side of his face and closing his eyes. 

“Ron talked to me.” He announced after a few moments. “Don’t be mad but… he explained a few things. Things I wasn’t understanding before, because they never even brushed my mind.” She turned red. He knew. 

_ He knew. _

Hermione tried to pull her hand back, but he didn’t let her. “Harry-”

“No. We’re talking about this.” He insisted, keeping her there. “He told me that you feel ugly.  _ Deformed. _ ” 

She tried again to get away from him, avoiding his eyes as much as she could from that close. “Harry, please-”

“I feel like that too.” 

What? 

“What?” She frowned. “But why the hell-” 

“Hermione, I was a scrawny, underfed kid. My hair was cut by the measurements of a bowl, I never had clothes that fit, no matter what, and it didn’t ever seem like I saw the sun,  _ ever _ .” He brought his hand to her hair, tucking it behind her ear. “Ginny never understood it, but I was never, and could never, be Krum. My whole physiology was affected by how I was treated by my aunt and uncle, and that left… a lot of scars.”  _ Not only physically _ , she could see. “So while I was the chosen one, considered very powerful, bla bla bla, I never felt like I was good looking.” 

“You had hundreds of fans to tell you that every day.” She pointed it out, but she knew how it was. Pot, kettle. 

“So did you. Believing them after a lifetime of hearing the opposite was impossible.” He let her hands go, looking down. 

She motioned to the couches to their left, and sat down. Harry followed. 

“Be honest.” He asked her. “Did you consider me attractive, when we were teeganers?” 

She was struck dumb by the question. “To be honest, I didn’t find anyone attractive at all. I don’t think I was mature enough to deal with desire at that point.” Hermione revealed. “But I thought you were cute, at least.” 

“I thought you were beautiful, but I don’t think I was attracted to anybody until I was, I don’t know, twenty five, or something like that.” 

“But Harry,” She scooted forward to be closer to him. “You do have a mirror now, right? Because honestly-”

“This is… this is a bit of me, a bit of Ginny, a bit of all the stylists we went to when I had to accompany her to some celebrity party or another.” He tried to convince her. “And lately, the Zabinis have been aiding me with that.”

She smiled to herself. “Draco told me.” 

“Yeah,” He let his hand go through his hair, messing the long strands a little. 

“Are you…” She struggled, but she was a Gryffindor, dammit, so she continued. “Do you also feel like… like I would be disgusted by something you do, or by how you look?” She just had to ask. 

He chuckled, but it didn’t seem fun. “All the time. Like I’m that awkward kid wearing his cousin’s hand-me-downs all over again.” He looked at her again. “Like I’d never deserve you, and would be a fool to try.” 

Hermione nodded. That… made sense. But not only it made sense, the fact that he actually  _ understood _ lifted a weight from her heart. She didn’t want him to suffer, no, but she did want him to understand her pain, at least intellectually. 

“Okay.” She blinked. “We have, let’s call them issues.” He nodded. “But those issues are about us with ourselves, not with each other. And we can’t be allowed to make them about each other.”

Harry nodded again. “Agreed.” He shifted forward, kneeling in front of her. “We need help.” 

She thought it was a bit weird, but said nothing. “That’s gonna take some time. Maybe the therapist could give us some ground rules.”

“Agreed.” He said again, hands on her knees. “But just so it’s registered,” His hands slid up, and up, and she didn’t stop him, feeling her guts tie into a knot, freefall, warm and cold, all at once. He barely touched her and she was already dying, fucking hell. 

“Yes?” She asked, voice breaking shamefully in the middle. 

“Just so it’s registered, I think you’re amazing,  _ and _ amazingly gorgeous,” He was between her legs now, her breath caught. 

“Yeah?” She asked, not even trying anymore to hide her breathlessness state. 

“Yeah,” He opened a devious smile before kissing her, touching from navel to chest. She could feel his heart beating, his pulse on his neck, how he smelled. She could feel how soft his hair was, how needy he was by how his hands gripped her waist, the things he was suggesting with his mouth on hers. Fuck her, but he was an amazing kisser. 

“Okay, hm-” She pushed him away a bit, aware of how disheveled she probably looked. Her first impulse was to say that none of that was adequate, but that didn’t match what she felt at all. “Shirt, off.” And when he hesitated, she did a non-verbal, and the feeling of his bare chest made her feel like she was  _ burning _ . She didn’t even think before splaying both of her hands on his skin, which reacted beautifully, with goosebumps and shivers. 

Fuck. Fuck, he wanted her.  _ He actually wanted her. _ Both of his hands grabbed her ass through her dress and Hermione gasped, but it felt  _ good _ . It felt  _ good _ to know that he knew her, he liked her,  _ and _ he desired her. That it was possible. 

That it was  _ real _ . 

She was ready to apparate them both to her house when Lydia’s voice came from the speakers on her phone. 

“I hate to interrupt,” She said after clearing her throat.  “But the Unspeakables are here and they really don’t want to wait.” Lydia at least sounded regretful. 

Hermione shut her eyes to avoid seeing the line of Harry hardening inside his pants. She took a breath. “Give me five.” 

“Done.” Lydia disconnected and Hermione let her head fall forward, on Harry’s chest. “Fuck.” 

“Yeah.” He agreed, chuckling. “Yeah. Well, at least we know we do desire each other.” He pointed out as he accio-ed his shirt and started to dress it up again. “No problems on that area.” 

“ _ Fuck _ .” She repeated, very eloquent. She was going to die. She was horny, wet, disheveled and probably too distracted to have any meetings with anybody, let alone the Unspeakables. “I can’t do this.” 

“Yes you can.” He kissed her forehead, standing up. 

“No, I can’t.” Hermione refused to look at him. 

“If you go through this meeting and nobody asks you if you’re OK,” He looked challenging. “I’ll come up after hours and… reward you.” Harry prompted. “Just  _ you _ . I’m very good at that, at least.” 

“Holy shit,” She rubbed her forehead before quickly trying to fix herself up. “When did you become that devious?” 

He shrugged. “Zabinis.” 

“Remember me to thank them.” She took a deep breath, finally looking at him. He looked lighter, looser. And softer down there, thank Merlin, or she’d never be able to concentrate ever again. 

“You gotta leave now, before I give up.” She opened the passageway behind her desk. 

He kissed her briefly, sweetly, while buttoning up his coat. “See you later.” And left,  _ whistling _ , the wanker. 

She took another deep breath and put Lydia through again. “Let them in.” She asked her. 

After all, she still had a day to go through. And a reward to collect.

 


	10. Chapter Ten

#  Chapter Ten

“And he’s not here why, exactly?” Draco asked her later that day, sipping on the brandy she poured the three of them. Lydia, of course, wouldn’t be excluded from that conversation. 

“Mission. Couldn’t avoid it.” She informed him with a shrug, sipping on hers too. She was frustrated, very frustrated, but it wasn’t Harry’s fault. He’d be just as comprehensive if it had been her. 

“A mission that Potter had to go?” Draco frowned. “That can’t be good.” 

“I came to terms with this long ago,” She revealed, sipping idly on her cup. “Harry is simply too stubborn to die.” 

Malfoy almost spit his alcohol laughing. Lydia almost immediately handed him a napkin and he thanked her with a smile. They already looked like a very fond, very well-oiled machine. 

“If I may be so bold,” Hermione cocked her head and narrowed her eyes. “Why exactly hasn’t anyone told me that you two have already had, let me try… three dates?”

Lydia  _ and _ Malfoy blushed at the same time, and this time he  _ definitely _ spit a bit of his drink. “You were too busy with your mess of a love life.” Malfoy tried to be cute, but she was having none of it. 

“Yeah, no. I’m never too busy to be happy about other people.” She offered them her glass. “Congratulations.”

They smiled and clinked glasses with her, drinking afterwards. “Are you going to the ball together?”

“What ball?” Malfoy asked, and she almost didn’t remember that he didn’t work somewhere where he would easily access that type of news. He looked at Lydia, and his expression of confusion deepened as  _ her _ expression was also one of confusion. 

“Yes, Mrs. Granger.  _ What ball? _ ”

Hermione smiled. 

* * *

 

“Have I told you that you’re insane? Because  _ someone  _ has to tell you that, sometimes.” Lydia looked disheveled and flushed. Hermione smiled on the inside. She could shape her assistance to act as composed as her under a lot of pressure. Who knew? Maybe she could be the next Minister. Keep up her good work. “You’re looking at me weirdly.”

“Just daydreaming.” Hermione smiled her enigmatic smile. “So. Everything is coming along alright.” She turned to Lydia. “I never asked you to help with this. You know that.”

“What use am I if I don’t do my job?” She started to pout, hard. The Minister could easily see what Draco saw in her. “I’m with you. In everything.”

“Even my madness?” She asked with a small grin, and Lydia took a breath, looking softer.

“Especially then.”

The older woman allowed the full-bloom smile to come to fruition on her face. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Lydia smiled back. 

“I’m not done thanking you.” She opened the room of the old seamstress of the Ministry, an older woman who, before retirement, was always ready to fix anyone’s clothing to perfection. Inside, Hugh waited for them, opalescent and iridescent fabrics spread around the whole room, waiting for them. 

Lydia squealed, Hermione chuckled. Viktor had to keep his eye on Hugh. That man was worth his weight in diamond. 

* * *

 

Afterwards, sitting on the floor with ice cream, Hermione turned to Hugh. “Is it going well?” She asked, and he frowned. “With Ron.”

His frown dissipated, and he flushed. “Hm-”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know, Hugh.” She appeased him, Lydia joining in with firm head nods. She was a little curious bee, but it was cute. Just because she was so trustworthy, otherwise she’d be splattered on the floor somewhere no one would find her remains, at this point, with the amount of information she had on Hermione’s life and abouts. 

He nodded, leaving his ice cream bowl on the carpet. “We are working on it. He’s very shy and insecure, but then again, so is everyone.” He shrugged. “We did kiss, though.”

Lydia squealed. “Oh my god!” She bounced on her knees. “Just you and him?”

“I thought you didn’t like him.” Hermione mused with a small smirk. 

“I like gossip, leave me be.” She gave Hermione the tongue and came back to Hugh, who smiled. 

“Just me and Ron. Viktor was there but he was doing… something else.” He bit his lower lip as Lydia started squealing again. 

“I’m happy for you all.” Hermione smiled at him. “And happy he’s loosening up. We would never actually be functional adults if we were still with each other.” 

"I still haven't seen that functional adult you talk about." Lydia pointed out, startling Hermione. 

"What?" It came out sharper than she intended. 

"Well…" The blond woman looked nervous, and turned to Hugh for help.

"Ron is out there. He's on therapy, he's dating me and Viktor." He pointed out. "You have been…  _ preparing _ a lot. But no actual move." He explained, and Hermione was hurt that he agreed. 

But if it hurt, it echoed into something real inside of her, somehow. And Lydia wouldn't tease her just to hurt her, neither would Hugh. And she was a chronic perfectionist, which meant that she was terrified of making a mistake. 

Hermione took a breath. 

"I'm sorry." Lydia looked earnest. 

"It's OK. You did it as a push, not to offend me." She acknowledged. "And you're right. It's time I do something."

The other people in the room exchanged looks. "What are you planning?"

Hermione just. Smiled. 

 

* * *

 

The ball was just for Ministry workers, and, as such, more familiar with their preferences, less connected to attempts of avoiding international catastrophes. 

It was… nice. In a cozy way. In a very Hogwarts way. And, from what she heard, everybody was absolutely loving it. Hermione was pleased. There was nothing quite like someone appreciating her efforts. 

“Mrs. Minister.” Draco appeared in front of her in the ballroom, Lydia already next to him. He had the biggest smile, and she felt one bloom on her lips in response. He was so happy with Lydia, it was contagious. 

“Mr. Malfoy.” She said in answer. “Enjoying the party?”

“It’s great. I particularly love the way you were able to seamlessly add Potter’s favorite juice flavor as a cocktail.” He smirked. “Very clever.”

“I am nothing but clever.” She shrugged modestly. “I also hired the Weird Sisters.”

“What, they are still alive?” Malfoy looked surprise. “Are you recreating that stupid Winter Ball we had at Hogwarts, Mrs. Minister?”

She smiled and waited. 

“Fuck. That’s the same dress, isn’t it?” He asked, eyes searching the clothing. “Damn, woman. What are you trying to do?”

She grinned. “I am fixing things. It’s what I do.”

“You’ll have to fix a lot more than a relationship if people keep looking at you, though.” He looked around, seeing the eyes of the people around them laying admiringly on her. “Potter has an explosive temper when it comes to you. Reminding him of the date you had with Krum may not be the right approach here.”

Hermione chuckled. “Trust me. Nothing will blow up today.”

“Oh, don’t promise that.” Lydia asked with a tiny smile. “That’s half the fun.”

Their attentions were averted to people arriving at the scene. Hugh, Ron and Viktor entered the ballroom through much noise, but they didn’t actually answer anything with more than a slight smile and a hand-wave. 

Hugh walked to her looking sheepish. “We all talked, and if this is too weird for you, we can just go to a nightclub or something-”

“Hugh.” She stopped him. “I have two children with him. We are divorced. I have to see him anyway.” Hermione tried to calm him down. “If I feel something negative, I promise I will tell you honestly, but I’ll have to deal with it at some point anyway. You’re not doing anything wrong.”

He looked very relieved. “Thank you. Anything happens, please tell us.”

She nodded, waving at Ron and Viktor, who had not approached, and probably wouldn’t, not together. “Honesty is always the best bet here. Thank you as well, for caring.”

He smiled his thanks and made a quick way back to his dates. Hermione took a deep breath, Draco and Lydia showing her concerned, but encouraging looks. “Alright?” 

“Alright.” She promised, putting a smile back on. “Alright.” 

“Draco, darling, you look stunning as always, but  _ holy crap look at that _ .” Lydia said, looking at the door. Both Hermione and Draco turned to look as Harry walked in. 

He was wearing a plain, black suit. But… the suit wasn’t wearing him, not like people unused to walk around in suit and tie usually displayed more formal clothes. He was actually  _ wearing the suit _ . His shoulders were back, chest forward, head high. Everything about him screamed predator, from his very, very Muggle suit, to the scar on his face and hair tied back. 

Hermione felt the air heat around her. She felt her chest swell with pride and her stomach drop as her navel muscles tensed in expectation and excitement. 

Right after him, though, came Ginny, and she looked  _ stunning _ . Her dress was red satin, a skirt and a tied top linked by barely anything of fabric over her flat stomach, backless if not for where the top tied to her back. She had the body of a model, of an athlete, and the way she walked, the way she  _ smiled _ , only acted to her seductiveness. 

“What is she  _ doing  _ here?” Hermione heard Draco whisper to Lydia, who shrugged, at loss. Hermione barely heard anything, though. She threw one look at Hugh across the room, and directed herself to the women’s bathroom, where he followed her without hesitating. She could feel all eyes on her, on them, from one pawn to the other on this game, searching for the connections, the plot twists. All the excitement turned sour in her stomach. 

She was sitting at the little otoman when Hugh came in and locked the door behind him. “What do you need?”

“Please, change this dress.” Hermione bravely tried to swallow everything down. Harry was back with Ginny, and fuck, who wouldn’t be? Yes, she cheated, but it was probably a one-time thing, Hermione knew Ginny. She was not a bad person, not a bad mother, and they… they fit into each other so well. Fuck, how could she have missed it? 

“What do you want to change?” Hugh’s voice betrayed his feelings of graveness on the situation. She thanked him for his sympathy with a smile, standing up. 

“Anything that doesn’t remind me so badly of this one.” She asked. “And nothing red. Please.”

Hugh smiled. “I have just the thing.”

A few minutes later, her dress wasn’t satiny-shiny, or pink. It was sleeveless, hugged her frame a bit more - more womanly, less childish of a piece, in navy blue. It… sort of suited the current shape of her body better. Thankfully, not many people had arrived early to see her in that first dress, and if someone asked, she’d just say she had a little accident with it. 

Lydia came in while Hugh was finishing the seams, and helped Hermione switch her hair as well - a simple dutch braid, they didn’t have the time or the skills to make it fancier than that, but it was enough. Enough that what she tried to do earlier - re-create the Winter Ball, but fixing her pairing choice, which sort of should have been Harry anyways, even if they were just friends at the time - wasn’t that obvious to Harry and Ginny. She didn’t want them to know she had been aiming to get together with Harry that night. Him coming with Ginny was signal enough that he had changed his mind, especially in front of the press. Harry wouldn’t do that to his children, who would doubtlessly hear about it the next morning at the school. 

With Lydia and Hugh flanking her, she felt a bit more confident to walk outside the bathroom. Draco had been waiting for them outside, Viktor and Ron not too far. Even the redhead’s expression was confused at his sister’s appearance, and his solidarity smile to Hermione made her feel… a little better. What an improvement between them, she pondered. Small mercies. 

Hermione avoided the golden couple all night, but it was impossible to avoid all the talk surrounding them. People wanted to know, from her, what was happening, if they were back together - because of course Hermione had that kind of personal information on Harry, even though they didn’t appear in public together for practically the whole time span of her marriage to Ron, - and she answered politely that she didn’t know until they just appeared there. Draco and Lydia tried to help, to divert the conversation to other areas, but people were naturally curious about the occurrence, and Hermione didn’t blame them. 

It did not mean it did not hurt. 

By the end, while serving herself of a martini, she heard a voice - his voice - call her, hushed, “Hermione-”. She interrupted him. 

“No.” Hermione turned to Harry, shield down, but not her dignity. Never her dignity. “I understand, and you have nothing to explain to me. But I don’t want to talk, I don’t want to listen. It’s for the best that we pretend nothing ever happened, or was going to happen, or… whatever.” 

He looked torn. Again, she understood. If there had been  _ any chance  _ of making it work with Ron, and not break their family apart, she would have taken it as well. There was no question about it. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t me.” She smiled, but it wasn’t happy. “Give Albus, James and Lily my love.”

He nodded. “I will.” 

Harry turned, and left. Back where he belonged, beside a laughing Ginny. 

There was nothing left to say. 

  
  
  



	11. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright y'all. Don't you trust me at all? I mean, ONE cliffhanger and everyone starts yelling at poor busy me T.T See, I'm no noob at this, I know when stuff changes at the fic you gotta change the tags and the pairings and stuff. Did I do that? Nope. What does that mean? You gotta put some trust in the authoooor T.T I was actually upset and triggered, hm. Sorry. Anyways. Here is where I was going with this.

#  Chapter Eleven

The last drop of water to make everything overflow came on the Monday. 

Hermione had been working quietly in her office when she heard sharp conversation coming from Lydia’s room, and soon enough someone was entering Hermione’s room and locking the door behind them. 

“Hermione.” Ginny told her, smiling with way too many teeth. “We gotta talk.”

“I don’t see why.” Hermione answered immediately, her head never even raising from the papers she was reading. 

“ _ Hermione. _ ” Ginny insisted, but the other woman shut her down. 

“Mrs. Potter,” She rose her eyes to the red-headed woman, watching her. “I know I should be a grown-up about this, but I am in no condition to do that right now. Rest assured I will no longer  _ look _ at your husband, let alone  _ talk  _ to him, if I can avoid it. I suppose that’s enough said, for now.” 

“You arse, listen to me!” Ginny urged once more. “Remember that case Harry was working? The one he had to go on the field personally?” She asked, and it finally caught the Minister’s attention. 

“It was something for the Unspeakables. Even I don’t have the minutia on that.” 

“He was receiving threats,” Ginny revealed, sitting in front of Hermione. “But you know him. He’s only bothered by that when the threats reach the people he loves.”

A switch turned in Hermione’s head. Harry was obviously in trouble. “What happened?”

“First they threatened him, to stay away from you. He thought it was Ron at first, but it wasn’t. Then they started to threaten the kids and me, but I was under the Holyhead’s protection, and the kids are safe under Minerva’s eyes.” 

Cogs turning into her head, Hermione was still confused. “Why they want him away from me?”

“He found out a… conspiracy. Ugh, I hate that word.” Gin shook her head. “But that’s what he found. Some ridiculous people are still not happy that you’re Muggleborn, woman and Minister.”

“So they are targeting me, and warning him away because he’s a threat to them.” She narrowed her eyes. “Why didn’t the Unspeakables tell me anything though?”

“No idea.” Ginny bit her lower lip. “Since I came to the country to sign off the divorce papers, I suggested I came with him to that ball thing to make them thing he was backing away from you, see if the threats diminished, or if they would make a mistake.”

The brunette’s brain came to a halt. “Ginny. Where is Harry now?”

“That’s the thing.” The younger woman said, anguished. “I have no idea. I can’t find him.”

Hermione took a deep breath. “Well. Shit.”

 

* * *

 

The first step was to contact the Unspeakables to know exactly what they were dealing with. Then, from that, organizing the Aurors, pulling a substitute from their own ranks. 

The search party went out at midnight. They went through Harry’s effects, his files, his desk, even his clothes. Ginny was questioned, then Hermione was questioned about what they knew. 

By three a. m. they came back, and still no sign of Harry. 

“What do we do?” Ginny asked her, but Hermione shook her head. 

“We have no idea what’s happening, Ginny. We can’t do anything until we know enough to act.” 

“So what? We just fucking wait?” Hermione could understand Ginny’s frustration. It changed nothing. 

“We don’t even actually know if he has been kidnapped or, I don’t know, fainted on a stakeout.” She sighed. “There’s nothing we can do without knowing more.”

“And that’s exactly what I’m here for.” Draco arrived in a rush, face flushed, file in hand. “I got the file from the Unspeakables. Told them we may recognize something that helps them with the case.” He sat beside Ginny, spreading the pages on Hermione’s desk. 

“You stole it.” Hermione concluded, making him offer her half a smirk. 

“If they don’t guard it properly, it’s not my fault.” He and Ginny were already looking around, but her eyes caught on something she had seen before. 

“I-” She cocked her head, narrowing his eyes. “I need to make a phone call.” Stood up and went to Lydia’s desk, pulling her big binder of files. 

It took her about fifteen minutes to make the necessary connections, but then - then she just  _ knew _ . 

With an address on hand, she walked fast, but not fast enough to make her look suspicious. She knew that ground. That was her fucking Ministry, and her fucking man, and she’d be damned if she allowed them to have any of her things. It was enough that those bigoted scumbags took her parents’ memories, back when she was a teenager. Enough that they took so many lives. 

She found the private floo line and clearly stated the address. She felt the pull, but she was not afraid. Not this time. 

Harry had saved them all once, but it seemed people forgot that she had had a hand on it. 

She only noticed the hand holding her arm afterwards, when she was already inside the abandoned house. “What the hell?” She whispered urgently at Ron, who had floo powder on his freckled nose. 

“You’re not going anywhere alone, woman.” Ron wiped his nose, looking around. “Grimmauld, though? Again?”

“You know those people are ridiculously melancholic.” She said, wiping the shoulder of her suit. 

Side by side, wands on hands, they entered the place. There was something annoyingly nostalgic about being in danger with the two of them. Still, she was pissed off. Hermione saw a light on the living room; the fireplace was lit up. In front of it, sweating quite a bit, was Harry, tied up to a chair, looking drugged. Poisoned, maybe. 

Ron was already stepping forward - of course he didn’t remember protocol - and she stopped him with a hand on his chest. Hermione silently performed as many magic detector spells as she knew, and by the last one, the lines of the curses and wards were lit up throughout the entire house. 

“ _ Shit _ .” Ron exhaled, but she was concentrating. He knew to trust her on her mind, but he was just as stupid as Harry, wanting to act as a human shield. Why did she ever share friendship with such stupid men? She had to rethink that, asap. Just as soon as she saved Harry’s dumb ass. 

She started unmaking the curses while Ron slowly picked on the wards, both of them trying very hard not to trip anywhere with their magic. 

"Yeah, you gotta stop that." She could see it wasn't Thompson, but the person looked a lot like him. A relative, she was sure. He came into the room with two more guys, an older man, and another one just like him, same built and age. "You're one hell of a difficult woman to reach, Mrs. Granger."

"You people should have stopped with that jealous bullshit when I was a teenager." Hermione turned to them, wand out, curses and battle magic ready on her mind. Ron, behind her, kept untangling the wards and curses as quick as he could, she knew that. It would be better if it was the opposite, but they wanted her and wouldn't be distracted by Ron, so. Needs must and everything. 

"You are the one who should have stayed in your place." The man fumed. "None of this would have to happen! But you and Mr. Potter here are still the symbols of this war that you seem to think ended with the Dark Lord's death."

"Do you have any idea how much I had to prove myself my whole life to be where I am?" She advanced, moving her wand ever so slightly. Harry would forgive her for blowing up that place down again. Lily and James definitely would thank her, considering she was doing it to save their son again. "A lot. But I did it better than most who came before me, so fuck you very much, sir."

"You filthy cow, don't speak to my son like that-!" The elderly man came forward, brandishing his wand at her, but a voice interrupted him. 

"Grandpa, stop!" Thomson, Adam Thompson, also came through the floo network. Everyone but Ron stopped what they were doing. 

"Adam! Come here, son, we are beginning!" The man told him, offering him his hand. "We can do it together, son. I promise you, we'll make the Wizarding World great again, as it should have been during our Lord's ruling."

Adam had tears in his eyes, looking heartbroken. "Grandpa, please. Don't do this. You know it's wrong."

"Your father, my son, died because he was protecting them!" He pointed at Harry and Hermione. "Why would you want to side with them?"

"Because I don't want my father's death to be in vain." He stepped forward, right beside Hermione. "What did you give to Potter?"

"What he deserves,  _ brother _ ." The taller man answered for Adam's grandpa. "And if you don't get out of the way, you'll get it too."

"Marcus, stop this." He pointed the wand at his brother, but his arm was understandably shaking. 

"Get out, Adam. Call the Aurors, you don't need to be here for this." Hermione tried to convince him. She didn't want him in the crossfire, neither did the other side. He could just leave and be safe. The less people hurt, the better.

"I took an oath." He answered her, tears starting to fall.

"You never took a vow to fight your family, Adam." She insisted, looking at his grandpa and brother for help. They could help her convince him to get out. Then they could sort themselves out with clear cut sides. "I promise you no one will judge you for stepping out of this one. Just get help so no one gets hurt." She tried. 

"I'm not- GAAAAAAAH!" Adam fell to the ground, a silent Cruciatus moving his body in the ways it did. 

"MARCUS!" The older man yelled, but he only pushed the older man, making him trip and fall, audibly breaking something. He screamed through the pain, but Marcus wasn't deterred. Once the curse was done, he pointed his wand back to Adam's body, and right when he was about to cast it again, Hermione put herself in front of him. 

"You know, I learned something during the war." She told Marcus, looking very much the dangerous witch that she was. He took a step back without thinking, bumping into his buddy - maybe a cousin? "Cruciatus is a curse that can work with anger from the caster, but it works better when you enjoy their suffering." She saw, from the corner of her eye, Ron finally reaching Harry and carrying him from there, while Adam shifted on the floor. "I have been proving myself better than enough since I was eleven. I am the elected Minister of the Wizarding World in Britain, whether you like it or not." They took a step back together, as if they were waiting for her to do something  _ beyond _ what they could and, the worse is that they saw the truth. They saw she put effort in studies and practice to be the extraordinary witch they said she was, they knew it wasn't God or Merlin or luck or a mistake. They were envious, plain and simple. 

They knew she was better than them. And she was going to  _ show _ them, just so there was no doubt left. 

"This," The spell completed it's weaving as she finished slightly moving her wand. The incantation lit up, bright gold around them. "This is something I made myself, when I learned that it was possible, with creativity and hard work, to create a spell, if one wanted to. Learned it from a half-blood, professor Snape." 

"You probably didn't know that, but this house is right over a small stream of the Ley Lines. Runes work wonders upon soil like this, especially if you want to create something new. It's almost like magic is  _ eager _ to try new things."

"What are you doing, you bitc-"

The spell fell around them like a rock, and they felt no difference. "What did you DO?" The cousin yelled at her, trying to throw a hex at her, to no avail. 

She shrugged. "If you're smart enough, you know what I did. The line reabsorbed the seed of magic it gave you when you were born." She couldn't help but smile. "You're Muggles now."

"UNDO IT!" Marcus came into her space and grabbed her neck, pulling her from the floor. The thing was, yielding that kind of magic took a lot from her, and she couldn't fight back with magic. Biting, fighting, nothing seemed to work until Grandpa, up but leaning on the wall for support, threw something at his head, making him lose balance. 

Hermione could never tell exactly what happened there, but in the end, Ron had a slash on his stomach and was passed out, and Harry, semi-awake, had a wand on his hand, but he was bleeding from eyes, ears and mouth, breathing hard,  and the cousin had a vial of potion on his hands, apparently aiming to throw it all on Harry. Marcus, however, had his Grandpa by the neck now, looking angry as hell, yelling at the older man. 

She willed the Line up, praying, and gathered enough from there to throw an incarcerous at Marcus first, leaving him on the floor, before directing her wand to his cousin. If the vial fell by itself, it wouldn't break; if he man threw it, it would probably shatter in pieces with his strength, and who the fuck knew what was in there. 

She and Harry communicated with a look. She threw a  _ stupefy _ and Harry threw himself quickly forward, catching the vial with his hands. 

Hermione stupefied Marcus and the Grandpa, left a signal for the Aurora and gathered the fallen fallen men from the floor, apparating them all to St. Mungus. 

Then, as she would ever have it, she only ever saw the front desk before promptly passing out. 

* * *

 

When she finally woke up, Draco’s face was the first one she saw, followed by Lydia and Ginny. “Thank Merlin you’re OK.”

“I told you, it was magical exhaustion.” The nurse - Hanna, who knew - told them, smirking. 

“No one ever doubted you, Hanna.” Draco said quickly. “It’s just… it’s good to see her awake, that’s all.”

“Harry?” Her voice sounded… wrong. What was happening?

“He’s fine, he’s in physical therapy right now.” Ginny calmed her. “Just a couple of broken fingers that couldn’t be healed by magic, but he’ll be one hundred percent once he’s done his month.”

“Ron?”

Draco and Lydia exchanged a look. “He’s… a bit worse.” 

“He’s in magical stasis.” Ginny explained, looking guilty. “He took serious damage to his liver, but he needs-”

“The kids.” Hermione concluded. “You needed my authorization.”

“I tested my own but they weren’t compatible. They need a piece of one of their livers to grow a new one for Ron.” Ginny explained and Hermione nodded, shifting to sit up. 

“Are they here already?” She asked, drinking the water Malfoy offered her. Lydia nodded. “I authorize it. But, Hanna, please,” He called the woman, who turned to her. “Can you be there personally?”

She nodded. “Of course, I’m going.” She finished checking on Hermione’s status and left directly to talk to the chief of surgery. 

“Gin, can you go too?” She asked and the redhead nodded. “They’ll want to have someone from the family there.”

“Of course.” She left just after Hanna.

Hermione sighed. “Viktor and Hugh are with Ron, I suppose.”

“Yes.” Lydia agreed. “They were pretty shaken when they heard.” 

“I can only imagine.” She offered the other woman a small smile. “Is it bad that, despite being that long ago, fighting like this, being hurt and seeing them hurt, feels like riding a bicycle?”

Draco was the one who shrugged. “Not at all. Not for you, who were at the epicenter of everything.”

The door bumped open and Harry came in, looking flushed and… what was that beard?

“How long did I stay asleep?” She asked Draco, who bit his lower lip. 

“Ten fucking days, you inconsiderate- you-” Harry growled, he actually  _ growled _ . Oh Merlin, she was in love with a ridiculous man. That might actually be the case for a prayer to that God her mom always liked. 

“Calm your tits, Potter.” She raised one eyebrow, baiting him with defiance. “Come here.” 

He narrowed his eyes while Draco and Lydia tried to hide their smiles. “Why? What are you doing?”

“Too much of a chicken to find out?” She dared. 

Step by step, still suspicious, he came forward. She could see two of his fingers tied Muggle-style for being broken. She filed that for later. 

Hermione grabbed Harry by his shirt, pulling him to her height. “You hear me out. You  _ ever _ let me think you gave up on me in order to  _ protect me _ , I will sucker punch you so hard, the punch I gave Malfoy will look like a caress.” She told him, dead serious, and despite himself, Harry swallowed dry. “Do you understand?”

“Hermione-” He tried, but she tsked. 

“That’s not the right answer, Potter.” She pinched his forearm. “Do you fucking  _ understand _ me?” 

“Yes m’am.” And his answer came just as it would if she was McGonagal, automatic and from the bottom of his rebellious gut. 

She smiled, patting his face just like she would. “Good. Now-”

And it was his time to interrupt her, cupping her face with his hands to kiss her, quickly, but sweetly. And it wasn’t weird, and it wasn’t forced - it felt  _ just right _ . Like breathing. Like they had been doing that for years and years. “I’m so glad you’re OK.” He breathed against the skin of her cheek, just breathing her in. “What the hell did you pull back there? I never saw anything like that.”

“You forget I’m the best in my year, seconded by Mr. Malfoy there by a close margin.” Malfoy bowed as she spoke his name, making Lydia giggle, but she seemed impressed nevertheless. “And as a Minister, the Unspeakables allow me some measure of access to their libraries.”

“You’re saying you invented it?” Draco asked, cocking his head. 

“Don’t talk like you haven’t invented a magical species of flowers in honor of your mom. I saw those documents, Malfoy.” 

“OK, you’re both smart, we get it.” Harry stood straight again, rolling his eyes. “So, doctors say you can leave as soon as you feel like it.” Harry informed her. “But you’ll need some supervision, because your magic may come in bursts sometimes and fail in others.”

“This may sound awkward, but I think we should all stay at The Burrow.” Hermione suggested. “The kids and Ron need healing, you and I need supervision, and I don’t know about you, but I won’t sleep well until I see Ron up and yelling at the garden gnomes.” 

Harry chuckled, and nodded. “I’m not sure the Krums will leave his side, though.” 

“Like The Burrow could ever lack the space.” Hermione smiled. “Molly designed that just like her heart. It can always fit more people.” 

“You two wanna come?” Harry asked Draco and Lydia. The first seemed to stumble on his words, which never happened, and the former just flushed. “Fuck it, I almost died yet again. You’re coming, at least for lunch and the afterhours Quidditch.”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “You just want Lydia and my son to see me lose, don’t you, Potter?” He asked, but there was no actual heat to it. Harry chuckled. 

“Scared, Malfoy?” He teased, wiggling those ridiculous eyebrows, making Hermione’s chest ache in happiness and worry and love, so much fucking  _ love  _ it barely fit into her body. 

Draco opened a smile as well, fond and thankful. “Never.” 

And, yeah. As soon as Ron was up and running again, everything would be just fine. 

  
  



	12. Epilogue

# Chapter Twelve

THE cold, humid Irish wind blew on her face and hair mercilessly. Her whole view was muddy green and grey -  from the sky to the stormy ocean to the dying leaves beneath her feet. There was little to do on a place such as this besides contemplation. Luckily, it was exactly what she needed.

“Tea is served, Miss.” Mrs. Miller informed her while wiping her reddened hands on her untinged apron. The bed and breakfast owner and her husband were quiet people, but kind, nonetheless. She nodded her head in acknowledgement; watched the older woman make her way back into the house.

She heard before she entered, the noise of the game of exploding snap, with groans and yells shared between Harry, Mr. Miller, Ron and Viktor, while Hugh, Draco and Lydia just hid their smiles. Ginny, the most competitive, was standing on her chair already. “I WIN!”

“She’s stealing, there’s no way.” Mr. Miller complained and Hermione winked at him as he saw her wiggle her fingers, willing the Ley Line a mile from them. The thread of magic lit up from Ginny to the deck, making her jaw drop and the others silence, just before they started all yelling together about her cheating. 

It almost didn’t feel like two years already passed. Ron was fully healed, thank Merlin, and finished his treatment just in time to be Harry’s best man. True, they hadn’t been in a hurry to get married, but with therapy, it seemed like they all came to the conclusion that they wanted to be in each other’s lives, just not in the previous roles. 

In the end, Draco had been her maid of honor, and Ron had been Harry’s, and weirdly enough, it wasn’t _too_ weird. For her, at least, it felt like all the pieces finally fell to their right places. The kids did find it a bit weird, but they eventually came to terms with the idea, and just then, Harry and Hermione allowed themselves to move forward with their relationship. 

She found out later that the Unspeakables had moved their fingers and made the criminals she left at Godric’s Hollow ended up in Muggle prisons, and Adam was rightfully presented with a medal. His Grandpa stayed at the Ministry jail, close to his grandson. He had regretted and changed his action when he tried to save Hermione from Marcus, but that didn’t mean everything could go as if nothing had happened, and both of them knew it. Sadly, once a month had passed and Hermione sent her personally signed pardon downstairs, Adam’s grandfather was found dead of natural causes, Adam by his side. 

“Alright, alright, Hermione, keep that spell up, we’re going another round.” Harry asked her, eyes focused on the table like the little ridiculous maniac that he was. 

Hermione cocked her head. She kept the spell up, but the shoulder of her wool shawl just sort of _fell_ , showing just a bit of bare skin. 

As soon as Harry’s eyes fell on it, his hands faltered on shuffling the cards. 

His eyes searched her, always with that excitement. Her honeymoon phase with Ron had ended in a couple of weeks; with Harry it seemed neverending. It felt so _refreshing_ , how he was so open to her that he didn’t even bother to dim down his reactions to whatever she did. Another proof that, at least now, they were exactly where they were supposed to be. 

She opened the tiniest smile and saw his adam’s apple bob.

Hermione turned away, leaving the shawl on an armchair, and walked upstairs very slowly, allowing his eyes to drink up the fabulous things the new line of pants that Hugh designed did for her ass. 

Already in their room, Hermione heard some protesting downstairs, and then hurried steps coming towards her. And Harry would come inside to her wearing Gryffindor-red lingerie, complete with a red girdle - she still hadn’t completely made her peace with her post-partum belly fat, but it was okay, she was getting there - just laying across their bed on her stomach, pretending to read a magazine. 

And, despite her flaws, despite everything being displayed in such a silly way, Harry still looked as hungry for her as ever. Not that their sex - her therapist insisted on that term - _their sex_ wasn’t lacking fun and smiles and jokes between them. Once they were past their perceived awkwardness, though, the raw _lust_ he showed her opened the doors for her to feel like a damn goddess. At least when he looked at her like that, the sheer devotion on his eyes edging the line of overwhelming. 

“All that for me?” Harry opened a smile, slowly taking off his shirt. He knew she also liked a show. Just like her girdle, he put a tattoo over what he liked the least in his own body, and Hermione congratulated him by tracing every line with her tongue. She pondered in doing that again. 

“Your skin looks incredible under this light.” She told him, as they took a habit to do, to reassure each other. They only spoke when it was spontaneous, but they _always_ spoke when it was spontaneous, which was really good for the honesty factor. 

Harry smiled at her, kneeling down to kiss her on her own height. “I think you more often than not look amazing, but whatever Hugh does to your clothes that makes you feel that confident, I gotta thank him again.” She giggled as he bit her neck lightly. “Every time you do something like that I think I’ll have a heart attack.” 

“My overdramatic husband,” She turned to lay on her back as he laid over her, kissing her lips slowly. There was no rush. 

“My disbelieving wife,” He opened the biggest smile when he said that, like he couldn’t believe it. Honestly, sometimes, neither could she. 

Hermione spread her legs, hooking them around his hips to bring him close, as close as they could be with their clothes on the way. He let his breath out as his erection touched what he knew, but couldn’t feel, to be her warmth, through his jeans. 

“Well, husband mine.” She teased, finger going down to play with his zipper. “Your wife is on your bed, wearing sexy lingerie, and, hm-” Her finger diverted from his zipper to inside her underwear, easily slipping into her body. She shut her eyes, made it a bit of a show. She knew he liked it, and so did she. Made her feel… powerful. “Very much wet for you already.” Hermione blinked innocently. “Aren’t you going to do anything?”

“You’ll be the death of me, I swear to fucking God-” Harry growled, unable to contain his frustration, wishing he could do everything at once, immediately. She chuckled fondly at his frustration as he started to unhook her girdle, then her bra, stopping to kiss the skin slightly marked underneath them. 

“Damn well I will, Potter.” She held him by the hair on the nape of his neck, pulling his head to hers. “I have saved your life enough times that I decided you don’t take enough care of it. So, I claimed it as mine.” Hermione smiled, and Harry shut his eyes, shivering. _Interesting_. “I’m not the only one who enjoys possessive behavior, am I?”

He flushed, but ended up smiling, tucking his face to the junction of her neck and shoulder to gather himself back again. “I love you, OK? It’s not my fault everything you do looks like the sexiest thing in the world to my lizard-brain.” 

Hermione laughed. “Your lizard-brain is the best.” She said simply, playfully, threading her fingers through his hair. “And I love you too.” 

He smiled against her skin, kissed it, and lifted his body from hers. She had been about to protest when she felt him settle between her legs, pulling her underwear down her legs, his shoulders keeping them apart. 

She opened a big smile. “Have you put the sound-wards up?” She asked, but knew the answer even before opening her mouth. 

Harry chuckled against her thigh. “And miss Ron grumbling in the morning about how we make too much noise, just to have Gin remind him about the night in The Burrow?” He kissed up, and up, and _up_ , making her moan. She couldn’t help it. The way he did it was almost one hundred percent compatible with how she liked it. “Never. The shade of red he gets when Viktor starts talking is unreal.”

“Enough talking about my ex-husband and more being _my_ husband, please,” She chuckled, and he smiled, licking her again, another automatic loud sound coming from the pit of her stomach. 

“Yes, m’am.” He answered, and went silent, while drawing every sound he wished from her. 

* * *

 

“So.” Hermione’s therapist started on a session. “I think that’s it, Mrs. Granger.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “Excuse me?”

The woman smiled. “I have helped you with everything that I could. You have the tools now, and it’s been weeks that we did nothing but throw away conversation.” She shut her litlte notebook. “You’re ready.”

She felt panic swallow her for a moment. “But- but I’m not-”

“Hey. You can always come back if you need.” The woman reassured her, calm and stable as ever. “But I think the next step in therapy is for you to try things on your own. See how it goes.”

Hermione took a moment. She took a moment, a breath, shut her eyes. Her therapist, as always, waited for her to gather her words. 

“I’m scared.” It’s what came through. The woman’s smile, despite everything, was reassuring. 

“I know. But you came a long way, especially when it comes to your self-confidence. You and your husband took dancing classes, you speak openly to each other, and seem to have a very healthy married life, including your sex life. You let go of perfectionism in order to try things, see how they work, try something else if it doesn’t feel right.” She shrugged. “There’s not much else I could wish for you.”

The former minister exhaled, slowly, and let herself slump a bit on the armchair. Thinking. 

“So we’re done?” She asked, starting to slowly come to term with it. She was being released from therapy. Who knew?

Her therapist chuckled. “Yes, Hermione. We’re done.” She stood up, opening her arms for the friendly farewell hug they otherwise only shared when Hermione first came in. “Welcome to this side of paradise. it's chaos, it kinda sucks. You're going to love it.” She chuckled.

Hermione smiled. Never had anything rang that true before. "Yes. I think I will." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed this journey with me. See you all next time, probably with something from The Magicians though. Can't overcome Queliot that easy.  
> See ya!


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